w 

•<**'«*•.%  **.'4 


',* 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S 


PILGRIMAGE. 


SI  Homannt. 


BY  LORD  BYRON. 


A    NEW    EDITION,     WITH    ALL    THE    NOTES, 


EDITED  BY  THOMAS  MOORE. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

HENRY    CAREY    BAIRD, 

(SUCCESSOR  TO  E.  L.  CAREY,) 
No.  7  HART'S  BUILDINGS,  SIXTH  STREET  ABOVE  CHESTNUT. 

1856. 


L'univers  est  une  espece  de  livre,  dont  on  n'a  lu  que  la  pre- 
miere page  quand  on  n'a  vu  que  son  pays.  J'en  ai  feuillete  un 
assez  grand  nombre,  que  j'ai  trouve  egalement  mauvaises.  Get 
examen  ne  m'a  point  ete  infructueux.  Je  haissais  ma  patrie. 
Toutes  les  impertinences  des  peuples  divers,  parmi  lesquels  j'ai 
vecu,  m'ont  reconcilie  avec  elle.  Quand  je  n'aurais  tire  d'autre 
benefice  de  mes  voyages  que  celui-la,  je  n'en  regretterais  ni  les 
frais  ni  les  fatigues. 

LE  COSMOPOLITE.* 


*  [Par  M.  de  Montbron,  Paris,  1793.    Lord  Byron  somewhere  calls  it 
amusing  little  volume,  full  of  French  flippancy." — E.] 


Printed  by  T.  K  &  P.  G    Collins. ' 


[TO  THE  FIRST  AND  SECOND  CANTOS.] 


THE  folio  wing  poem  was  written,  for  the  most  part, 
amidst  the  scenes  which  it  attempts  to  describe.  It 
was  begun  in  Albania ;  and  the  parts  relative  to  Spain, 
and  Portugal  were  composed  from  the  author's  ob- 
servations in  those  countries.  Thus  much  it  may  be 
necessary  to  state  for  the  correctness  of  the  descrip- 
tions. The  scenes  attempted  to  be  sketched  are  in 
Spain,  Portugal,  Epirus,  Acarnania,  and  Greece. 
There,  for  the  present,  the  poem  stops:  its  reception 
will  determine  whether  the  author  may  venture  to 
conduct  his  readers  to  the  capital  of  the  East,  through 
Ionia  and  Phrygia:  these  two  cantos  are  merely 
experimental. 

A  fictitious  character  is  introduced  for  the  sake  of 
giving  some  connection  to  the  piece;  which,  however, 
makes  no  pretension  to  regularity.  It  has  been  sug- 
gested to  me  by  friends,  on  whose  opinions  I  set  a 
high  value,  that  in  this  fictitious  character,  "  Childe 
Harold,"  I  may  incur  the  suspicion  of  having  intended 
some  real  personage  ;  this  I  beg  leave,  once  for  all,  to 
disclaim — Harold  is  the  .child  of  imagination,  for  the 
purpose  I  have  stated.  In  some  very  trivial  particu- 
lars, and  those  merely  local,  there  might  be  grounds  for 


2C47SS2 


4  PREFACE. 

such  a  notion ;  but  in  the  main  points,  I  should  hope, 
none  whatever. 

It  is  almost  superfluous  to  mention  that  the  appel- 
lation "Childe,"  as  " Childe  Waters,"  "  Cliilde 
Childers,"  &c.,  is  used  as  more  consonant  with  the 
old  structure  of  versification  which  I  have  adopted. 
The  "  Good  Night,"  in  the  beginning  of  the  first  canto, 
was  suggested  by  "Lord  Maxwell's  Good  Night," 
in  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  edited  by  Mr.  Scott.1 

With  the  different  poems  which  have  been  pub- 
lished on  Spanish  subjects,  there  may  be  found  some 
slight  coincidence  in  the  first  part,  which  treats  of  the 
Peninsula,  but  it  can  only  be  casual;  as,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  concluding  stanzas,  the  whole  of 
this  poem  was  written  in  the  Levant. 

The  stanza  of  Spenser,  according  to  one  of  our  most 
successful  poets,  admits  of  every  variety.  Dr.  Beattie 
*  makes  the  following  observation; — "Not  long  ago,  I 
began  a  poem  in  the  style  and  stanza  of  Spenser,  in 
which  I  propose  to  give  full  scope  to  my  inclination, 
and  be  either  droll  or  pathetic,  descriptive  or  senti- 
mental, tender  or  satirical,  as  the  humour  strikes  me  ; 
for,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  measure  which  I  have  adopted 
admits  equally  of  all  these  kinds  of  composition."2  — 
Strengthened  in  my  opinion  by  such  authority,  and  by 
the  example  of  some  in  the  highest  order  of  Italian 
poets,  I  shall  make  no  apology  for  attempts  at  similar 
variations  in  the  following  composition ;  satisfied  that 
if  they.are  unsuccessful,  their  failure  must  be  in  the 
execution,  rather  than  in  the  design  sanctioned  by  the 
practice  of  Ariosto,  Thomson,  and  Beattie. 
London,  February,  1812. 

1  [See  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  141,  ed. 
1834.] 
8  Beattie's  Letters. 


ADDITION  TO  THE  PREFACE. 


I  HAVE  now  waited  till  almost  all  our  periodical 
journals  have  distributed  their  usual  portion  of  criti- 
cism. To  the  justice  of  the  generality  of  their  criti- 
cisms I  have  nothing  to  object :  it  would  ill  become  me 
to  quarrel  with  their  very  slight  degree  of  censure, 
when,  perhaps,  if  they  had  been  less  kind  they  had 
been  more  candid.  Returning,  therefore,  to  all  and 
each  my  best  thanks  for  their  liberality,  on  one  point 
alone  shall  I  venture  an  observation.  Amongst  the 
many  objections  justly  urged  to  the  very  indifferent 
character  of  the  "vagrant  Childe,"  (whom,  notwith- 
standing many  hints  to  the  contrary,  I  still  maintain  to 
be  a  fictitious  personage,)  it  has  been  stated,  that, 
besides  the  anachronism,  he  is  very  unknightly,  as 
the  times  of  the  knights  were  times  of  love,  honour, 
and  so  forth.  Now,  it  so  happens  that  the  good  old 
times,  when  "  1'amour  du  bon  vieux  terns,  1'amour 
antique"  flourished,  were  the  most  profligate  of  all 
possible  centuries.  Those  who  have  any  doubt  on 
this  subject  may  consult  Sainte-Palaye,  passim,  and 
more  particularly  vol.  ii.  p.  69.1  The  vows  of  chivalry 
were  no  better  kept  than  any  other  vows  whatsoever; 

1  ["  Qu'on  lise  dans  1'Auteur  du  roman  de  Gerard  de  Rous- 
eillon,  en  Provencal,  les  details  tres-circonstancies  dans  lesquels 
il  entre  sur  la  reception  faite  par  le  Comte  Gerard  dl'ambassadeur 
du  roi  Charles;  on  y  verra  des  particularites  singulieres,  qui 
donnent  une  etrange  idee  des  moeurs  et  de  la  politesse  de  ces 
siecles  aussi  corrompus  qu'ignorans." — Memoires  sur  I' 'Jlncienne 
Chevalerie,  par  M.  de  la  Curne  dc  Sainte-Palaye,  Paris,  1781.] 
1«  5 


C  PREFACE. 

and  the  songs  of  the  troubadours  were  not  more 
decent,  and  certainly  were  much  less  refined,  than 
those  of  Ovid.  The  "Cours  d'amour,  parlemens 
d'amour,  ou  de  courtesie  et  de  gentilesse"  had  much 
more  of  love  than  of  courtesy  or  gentleness.  See 
Roland  on  the  same  subject  with  Sainte-Palaye. 
Whatever  other  objection  may  be  urged  to  that  most 
unamiable  personage, Childe  Harold,he  was  so  farper- 
fectly  knightly  in  his  attributes — "  No  waiter,  but  a 
knight  templar."1  By-the-by,  I  fear  that  Sir  Tris- 
tram and  Sir  Lancelot  were  no  better  than  they  should 
be,  although  very  poetical  personages  and  true  knights 
"sans  peur,"  though  not  "sans  reproche."  If  the 
story  of  the  institution  of  the  "Garter"  be  not  a  fable, 
the  knights  of  that  order  have  for  several  centuries 
borne  the  badge  of  a  Countess  of  Salisbury,  of  indiffer- 
ent memory.  So  much  for  chivalry.  Burke  need  not 
have  regretted  that  its  days  are  over,  though  Marie- 
Antoinette  was  quite  as  chaste  as  most  of  those  in 
whose  honours  lances  were  shivered,  and  knights 
unhorsed. 

Before  the  days  of  Bayard,  and  down  to  those  of 
Sir  Joseph  Banks,  (the  most  chaste  and  celebrated  of 
ancient  and  modern  times,)  few  exceptions  will  be 
found  to  this  statement;  and  I  fear  a  little  investiga- 
tion will  teach  us  not  to  regret  these  monstrous 
mummeries  of  the  middle  ages. 

I  now  leave  "  Childe  Harold"  to  live  his  day,  such 
as  he  is ;  it  had  been  more  agreeable,  and  certainly 
more  easy,  to  have  drawn  an  amiable  character.  It 
had  been  easy  to  varnish  over  his  faults,  to  make  him 
do  more  and  express  less  ;  but  he  never  was  intended 
as  an  example,  further  than  to  show,  that  early 

1  The  Rovers,  or  the  Double  Arrangement [By  Messrs. 

Canning  and  Frere;  first  published  in  the  Anti-jacobin,  or 
Weekly  Examiner.] 


PREFACE.  7 

perversion  of  mind  and  morals  leads  to  satiety  of 
past  pleasures  and  disappointment  in  new  ones,  and 
that  even  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  the  stimulus  of 
travel  (except  ambition,  the  most  powerful  of  all 
excitements)  are  lost  on  a  soul  so  constituted,  or 
rather  misdirected.  Had  I  proceeded  with  the  poem, 
this  character  would  have  deepened  as  he  drew  to  the 
close ;  for  the  outline  which  I  once  meant  to  fill  up 
for  him  was,  with  some  exceptions,  the  sketch  of  a 
modern  Timon,1  perhaps  a  poetical  Zeluco.2 
London,  1813. 

1  [In  one  of  his  early  poems — "  Childish  Recollections," 
Lord  Byron  compares  himself  to  the  Athenian  misanthrope,  of 
whose  bitter  apophthegms  many  are  upon  record,  though  no 
authentic  particulars  of  his  life  have  come  down  to  us : — 

"  Weary  of  love,  of  life,  devoured  with  spleen, 
I  rest  a  perfect  Timon,  not  nineteen,"  &c.] 

9  [It  was  Dr  Moore's  object,  in  this  powerful  romance,  (now 
unjustly  neglected,)  to  trace  the  fatal  effects  resulting  from  a 
fond  mother's  unconditional  compliance  with  the  humours  and 
passions  of  an  only  child.  With  high  advantages  of  person, 
birth,  fortune,  and  ability,  Zeluco  is  represented  as  miserable, 
through  every  scene  of  life,  owing  to  the  spirit  of  unbridled  self- 
indulgence  thus  pampered  in  infancy.! 


TO  IANTHE.1 


NOT  in  those  climes  where  I  have  late  been  straying, 
Though  beauty  long  hath  there    been  matchless 

deem'd ; 

Not  in  those  visions  to  the  heart  displaying 
Forms  which  it  sighs  but  to  have  only  dream'd, 
Hath  aught  like  thee  in  truth  or  fancy  seem'd  j 
Nor,  having  seen  thee,  shall  I  vainly  seek 
To    paint   those   charms   which   varied   as   they 

beam'd — 

To  such  as  see  thee  not  my  words  were  weak ; 
To  those  who  gaze  on  thee  what  language  could  they 

speak  ? 

Ah !  mayst  thou  ever  be  what  now  thou  art, 
Nor  unbeseem  the  promise  of  thy  spring, 
As  fair  in  form,  as  warm  yet  pure  in  heart, 
Love's  image  upon  earth  without  his  wing, 
And  guileless  beyond  Hope's  imagining  ! 
And  surely  she  who  now  so  fondly  rears 
Thy  youth,  in  thee  thus  hourly  brightening, 
Beholds  the  rainbow  of  her  future  years, 
Before  whose  heavenly  hues  all  sorrow  disappears. 

1  [The  Lady  Charlotte  Harley,  second  daughter  of  Edward, 
fifth  Earl  of  Oxford,  (now  Lady  Charlotte  Bacon,)  in  the  autumn 
of  1812,  when  these  lines  were  addressed  to  her,  had  not  completed 
her  eleventh  year.  Mr.  Westell's  portrait  of  the  juvenile  beauty, 
painted  at  Lord  Byron's  request,  is  engraved  in  "  Finden's  Illus- 
trations of  the  Life  and  Works  of  Lord  Byron."] 

9 


10  TO   IANTHE. 

Young  Peri1  of  the  west! — 'tis  well  for  me 
My  years  already  doubly  number  thine  ; 
My  loveless  eye  unmoved  may  gaze  on  thee, 
And  safely  view  thy  ripening  beauties  shine; 
Happy,  I  ne'er  shall  see  them  in  decline  ; 
Happier,  that  while  all  younger  hearts  shall  bleed. 
Mine  shall  escape  the  doom  thine  eyes  assign 
To  those  whose  admiration  shall  succeed, 
But  mix'd  with  pangs  to  Love's  even  loveliest  hours 
decreed. 

Oh!  let  that  eye,which,  wild  as  the  gazelle's,2 
Now  brightly  bold  or  beautifully  shy, 
Wins  as  it  wanders,  dazzles  where  it  dwells, 
Glance  o'er  this  page,  nor  to  my  verse  deny 
That  smile  for  which  my  breast  might  vainly  sigh 
Could  I  to  thee  be  ever  more  than  friend : 
This  much,  dear  maid,  accord ;  nor  question  why 
To  one  so  young  my  strain  I  would  commend, 
But  bid  me  with  my  wreath  one  matchless  lily  blend. 

Such  is  thy  name  with  this  my  verse  entwined ; 
And  long  as  kinder  eyes  a  look  shall  cast 
On  Harold's  page,  lanthe's  here  enshrined 
Shall  thus  be  first  beheld,  forgotten  last : 
My  days  once  number'd,  should  this  homage  past 
Attract  thy  fairy  fingers  near  the  lyre 
Of  him  who  hail'd  thee,  loveliest  as  thou  wast, 
Such  is  the  most  my  memory  may  desire ; 
Though  more  than  Hope  can  claim,  could  Friend- 
ship less  require  ? 

1  [Peri,  the  Persian  terra  for  a  beautiful  intermediate  order  of 
beings,  is  generally  supposed  to  be  another  form  of  our  own 
word  Fairy.] 

*  [A  species  of  the  antelope.  "  You  have  the  eyes  of  a  ga- 
zelle," is  considered  all  over  the  East  as  the  greatest  compliment 
that  can  be  paid  to  a  woman.] 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE. 

CANTO    THE    FIRST. 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE. 


CANTO    THE    FIRST. 


•ft 

OH,  thou !  in  Hellas  deem'd  of  heavenly  birth, 
Muse  !  form'd  or  fabled  at  the  minstrel's  will ! 
Since  shamed  full  oft  by  later  lyres  on  earth, 
Mine  dares  not  call  thee  from  thy  sacred  hill : 
Yet  there  I've  wander'd  by  thy  vaunted  rill ; 
Yes  !  sigh'd  o'er  Delphi's  long  deserted  shrine,1 
Where,  save  that  feeble  fountain,  all  is  still ; 
Nor  mote  my  shell  awake  the  weary  Nine 
To  grace  so  plain  a  tale — this  lowly  lay  of  mine.2 

1  The  little  village  of  Castri  stands  partly  on  the  site  of  Delphi. 
Along  the  path  of  the  mountain,  from  Chrysso,  are  the  remains 
of  sepulchres  hewn  in  and  from  the  rock.  "  One,"  said  the  guide, 
"  of  a  king  who  broke  his  neck  hunting."  His  majesty  had  cer- 
tainly chosen  the  fittest  spot  for  such  an  achievement.  A  little 
above  Castri  is  a  cave,  supposed  the  Pythian,  of  immense  depth ; 
the  upper  part  of  it  is  paved,  and  now  a  cow-house.  On  the  other 
side  of  Castri  stands  a  Greek  monastery ;  some  way  above  which 
is  the  cleft  in  the  rock,  with  a  range  of  caverns  difficult  of  ascent, 
and  apparently  leading  to  the  interior  of  the  mountain ;  probably 
to  the  Corycian  Cavern  mentioned  by  Pausanias.  From  this  part 
descend  the  fountain  and  the  "  Dews  of  Castalie." — ["  We  were 
sprinkled,"  says  Mr.  Hobhouse,  "  with  the  spray  of  the  immortal 
rill,  and  here,  if  anywhere,  should  have  felt  the  poetic  inspiration : 
we  drank  deep,  too,  of  the  spring ;  but — (I  can  answer  for  myself) 
— without  feeling  sensible  of  any  extraordinary  effect." — E.] 

9  [This  stanza  is  not  in  the  original  MS.] 

2  3 


14  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO!. 

II. 

Whilome  in  Albion's  isle  there  dwelt  a  youth, 
Who  ne  in  virtue's  ways  did  take  delight ; 
But  spent  his  days  in  riot  most  uncouth, 
And  vex'd  with  mirth  the  drowsy  ear  of  Night. 
Ah  rne  !  in  sooth  he  was  a  shameless  wight, 
Sore  given  to  revel  and  ungodly  glee  ; 
Few  earthly  things  found  favour  in  his  sight1 
Save  concubines  and  carnal  companie, 
And  flaunting  wassailers  of  high  and  low  degree. 

in. 

Childe  Harold2  was  he  hight : — but  whence  his 

name 

And  lineage  long,  it  suits  me  not  to  say  ; 
Suffice  it,  that  perchance  they  were  of  fame, 
And  had  been  glorious  in  another  day : 
But  one  sad  losel  soils  a  name  for  aye, 
Ho\v  ever  mighty  in  the  olden  time  ; 
Nor  all  that  heralds  rake  from  coffin'd  clay, 
Nor  florid  prose,  nor  honied  lies  of  rhyme, 
Can  blazon  evil  deeds,  or  consecrate  a  crime. 

IV. 

Childe  Harold  bask'd  him  in  the  noontide  sun, 
Disporting  there  like  any  other  fly  ; 
Nor  deem'd  before  his  little  day  was  done 
One  blast  might  chill  him  into  misery. 
But  long  ere  scarce  a  third  of  his  pass'd  by, 
Worse  than  adversity  the  Childe  befell ; 
He  felt  the  fulness  of  satiety  : 
Then  loathed  he  in  his  native  land  to  dwell, 
Which  seem'd  to  him  more  lone  than  eremite's  sad 
cell. 

1  ["  He  cheer'd  the  bad  and  did  the  good  affright; 

With  concubines,"  &c. — MS.] 
•  [«  Childe  Buron."— MS.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  15 

v. 

For  he  through  Sin's  long  labyrinth  had  run, 
Nor  made  atonement  when  he  did  amiss, 
N    Had  sigh'd  to  many,  though  he  loved  but  one,1 
\    And  that  loved  one,  alas!  could  ne'er  be  his. 
Ah,  happy  she  !  to  'scape  from  him  whose  kiss 
Had  been  pollution  unto  aught  so  chaste ; 
Who  soon  had  left  her  charms  for  vulgar  bliss, 
And  spoil'd  her  goodly  lands  to  gild  his  waste, 
Nor  calm  domestic  peace  had  ever  deign'd  to  taste 

VI. 

And  now  Childe  Harold  was  sore  sick  at  heart, 
And  from  his  fellow  bacchanals  would  flee; 
'Tis  said,  at  times  the  sullen  tear  would  startT 

^  But  Pride  congeal'd  the  drop  within  his  ee  : 
Apart  helstalk/ji  jn  joyless  re  very,2 
And  from  his  native  land  resolveji_tQ_gp, 
And  visit  scorching  climes  beyond  the  sea ; 
With  pleasure  drugg'd,  he  almost  long'd  for  woe. 

And  e'en  for  change  of  scene  would  seek  the  shades 
below.3 

1  [See  Stanzas  written  to  a  Lady,  on  leaving  England : 
Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  302  ;— 

["  And  I  must  from  this  land  be  gone, 

Because  I  cannot  love  but  one."] 
8  ["  And  straight  he  fell  into  a  revery." — MS.] 
3  In  these  stanzas,  and  indeed  throughout  his  works,  we  must 
not  accept  too  literally  Lord  Byron's  testimony  against  himself — 
A/ he  took  a  morbid  pleasure  in  darkening  every  shadow  of  his  self- 
portraiture.     His  interior  at  Newstead  had,  no  doubt,  been,  in 
some  points,  loose  and  irregular  enough ;  but  it  certainly  never 
exhibited  any  thing  of  the  profuse  and  Satanic  luxury  which  the 
language  in  the  text  might  seem  to  indicate.    In  fact,  the  narrow- 
ness of  his  means  at  the  time  the  verses  refer  to  would  alone  have 
precluded  this.     His  household  economy,  while  he  remained  at 
the  Abbey,  is  known  to  have  been  conducted  on  a  very  moderate 
scale ;  and,  besides,  his  usual  companions,  though  far  from  being 
averse  to  convivial  indulgences,  were  not  only,  as  Mr.  Moore 


1C  C  HI  LDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

VII. 

The  Childe  departed  from  his  father's  hall : 
It  was  a  vast  and  venerable  pile ; 
So  old,  it  seemed  only  not  to  fall, 
Yet  strength  was  pillar'd  in  each  massy  aisle. 
Monastic  dome  !  condemn'd  to  uses  vile  ! 
Where  Superstition  once  had  made  her  den, 
Now  Paphian  girls  were  known  to  sing  and  smile  ; 
And  monks  might  deem  their  time  was  come  agen, 
If  ancient  tales  say  true,  nor  wrong  these  holy  men. 

\yni. 
.  *    Yet  oft-times  in  his  maddest  mirthful  mood 

Strange  pangs  jivojil(Lflash  along  Childe  Harold's 

brow, 

As  if  the  memory  of  some  deadly  feud 
Or  disappointed  passion  lurk'd  below: 
But  this  none  knew,  nor  haply  cared  to  know ; 
For  his  was  not  that  open,  artless  soul 
That  feels  relief  by  bidding  sorrow  flow, 
Nor  sought  he  friend  to  counsel  or  condole, 
Wfiate'e'rthe  grief  mote  be,  which  he  could  not  control. 

IX. 

And  none  did  love  him — though  to  hall  and  bower 
He  gather'd  revellers  from  far  and  near, 
He  knew  them  flatterers  of  the  festal  hour; 
The  heartless  parasites  of  present  cheer. 
Yea !  none  did  love  him — nor  his  lemans  dear- — 
But  pomp  and  power  alone  are  woman's  care, 
And  where  these  are  light  Eros  finds  a  feere  ; 
Maidens,  like  moths,  are  ever  caught  by  glare, 
And  Mammon  wins  his  way  where  seraphs  might 
despair. 

snys,  "of  habits  and  tastes  too  intellectual  for  mere  vulgrar 
dolnuchery,"  but,  assuredly,  quite  incapable  of  playing  the  parts 
of  flatterers  and  parasites.] 


CANTO  1.  PILGRIMAGE.  17 

x. 

Childe  Harold  had  a  mother — not  forgot, 
Though  parting  from  that  mother  he  did  shun; 
A  sister  whom  he  loved,  but  saw  her  not 
Before  his  weary  pilgrimage  begun  : 
If  friends  he  had,  he  bade  adieu  to  none, 
let  deem  not  thence  his  breast  a  breast  of  steel  :* 
Ye,  who  have  known  what  'tis  to  dote  upon 
A  few  dear  objects,  will  in  sadness  feel 
Such  partings  break  the  heart  they  fondly  hope  to  heal. 

XI. 

His  house,  his  home,  his  heritage,  his  lands, 
The  laughing  dames  in  whom  he  did  delight,2 
Whose  large  blue  eyes,  fair  locks,  and  snowy  hands 
Might  shake  the  saintship  of  an  anchorite, 
And  long  had  fed  his  youthful  appetite: 
His  goblets  brirnm'd  with  every  costly  wine, 
And  all  that  mote  to  luxury  invite, 
Without  a  sigh  he  left,  to  cross  the  brine,       [line.3 
And  traverse  Paynim  shores,  and  pass  earth's  central 

XII. 

The  sails  were  fill'd,  and  fair  the  light  winds  blew, 
As  glad  to  waft  him  from  his  native  home; 
And  fast  the  white  rocks  faded  from  his  view, 
And  soon  were  lost  in  circumambient  foam: 
And  then,  it  may  be,  of  his  wish  to  roam 
Repented  he,  but  in  his  bosom  slept 
The  silent  thought,  nor  from  his  lips  did  come 
One  word  of  wail,  whilst  others  sate  and  wept, 
(And  to  the  reckless  gales  unmanly  moaning  kept. 

1  ["Yet  deem  him  not  from  this  with  breast  of  steel." — MS.] 

•  ["  His  house,  his  home,  his  vassals  and  his  lands, 

The  Dalilahs,"  &c.— M.S.] 

*  [Lord  Byron  originally  intended  to  visit  India.] 

a* 


18  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO!. 

XIII. 

But  when  the  sun  was  sinking  in  the  sea, 
He  seized  his  harp,  which  he  at  times  could  string 
And  strike,  albeit  with  untaught  melody, 
When  deem'd  he  no  strange  ear  was  listening: 
And  now  his  fingers  o'er  it  he  did  fling, 
And  tuned  his  farewell  in  the  dim  twilight. 
While  flew  the  vessel  on  her  snowy  wing, 
And  fleeting  shores  receded  from  his  sight, 
Thus  to  the  elements  hepour'd  his  last "  Good-night."1 

1. 

"ADIEU,  adieu !  my  native  shore 

Fades  o'er  the  waters  blue  ; 
The  night-winds  sigh,  the  breakers  roar, 

And  shrieks  the  wild  sea-mew. 
Yon  sun  that  sets  upon  the  sea 

We  follow  in  his  flight ; 
Farewell  a  while  to  him  and  thee, 

My  native  Land — Good-night ! 

2. 
"  A  few  short  hours  and  he  will  rise 

To  give  the  morrow  birth  ; 
And  I  shall  hail  the  main  and  skies, 
f.    But  not  my  mother  earth. 
//Deserted  is  my  own  good  hall, 

Its  hearth  is  desolate ; 
Wild  weeds  are  gathering  on  the  wall ; 
My  dog  howls  at  the  gate// 

3. 

"  Come  hither,  hither,  my  little  page  !3 
Why  dost  thou  weep  and  wail  ? 

1  [See  Lord  Maxwell's  «  Good  Night,"  in  Scott's  Minstrelsy 
of  the  Scottish  Border:  Poetical  Works,  vol.  ii.p.  141,  ed.  1834 — 

"Adieu,  madame,  ray  mother  dear,"  &c.] 
3  [This  "  little  page"  was  Robert  Rushton,  the  son  of  one  of 


CASTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  19 

Or  dost  thou  dread  the  billow's  rage, 

Or  tremble  at  the  gale  ? 
But  dash  the  tear-drop  from  thine  eye ; 

Our  ship  is  swift  and  strong  : 
Our  fleetest  falcon  scarce  can  fly 

More  merrily  along."1 

4. 
1  Let  winds  be  shrill,  let  waves  roll  high, 

I  fear  not  wave  nor  wind  :2 
Yet  marvel  not,  Sir  Childe,  that  I 

Am  sorrowful  in  mind  ;3 
For  I  have  from  my  father  gone, 

A  mother  whom  I  love, 
And  have  no  friend,  save  thee  alone, 

But  thee — and  One  above. 

5. 

'  My  father  bless'd  me  fervently, 
Yet  did  not  much  complain  ; 

Lord  Byron's  tenants.  "Robert  I  take  with  me,"  says  the  poet, 
in  a  letter  to  his  mother;  "  I  like  him,  because,  like  myself,  he 
seems  afriendless  animal:  tell  his  father  he  is  well  and  doing  well." 

1         ["  Our  best  goshawk  can  hardly  fly 
So  merrily  along."— MS.] 

s         ["  Oh  master  dear !  I  do  not  cry 

From  fear  of  wave  or  wind." — MS.] 

3  Seeing  that  the  boy  was  "  sorrowful"  at  the  separation  from 
his  parents,  Lord  Byron,  on  reaching  Gibraltar,  sent  him  back  to 
England  under  the  care  of  his  old  servant  Joe  Murray.  "  Pray," 
he  says  to  his  mother,  "  show  the  lad  every  kindness,  as  he  is  my 
great  favourite."  He  also  wrote  a  letter  to  the  father  of  the  boy, 
which  leaves  a  most  favourable  impression  of  his  thoughtfulness 
and  kindliness.  "  I  have,"  he  says,  •'  sent  Robert  home,  because 
the  country  which  I  am  about  to  travel  through  is  in  a  state 
which  renders  it  unsafe,  particularly  for  one  so  young.  I  allow 
you  to  deduct  from  your  rent  five-and-twenty  pounds  a  year  for 
his  education,  for  three  years,  provided  I  do  not  return  before 
that  time,  and  I  desire  he  may  be  considered  as  in  my  service. 
He  hns  lx-!iavt\l  extremely  well."] 


20  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

But  sorely  will  ray  mother  sigh 

Till  I  come  back  again.' — 
"  Enough,  enough,  my  little  lad  ! 

Such  tears  become  thine  eye  ; 
If  I  thy  guileless  bosom  had, 

Mine  own  would  not  be  dry.1 


6. 
"  Come  hither,  hither,  my  staunch  yeoman,3 

Why  dost  thou  look  so  pale  ? 
Or  dost  thou  dread  a  French  foemas  ? 

Or  shiver  at  the  gale  ?" — 
'  Deem'st  thou  I  tremble  for  my  life  ? 

Sir  Childe,  I'm  not  so  weak  ; 
But  thinking  on  an  absent  wife 

Will  blanch  a  faithful  cheek. 


1  [Here  follows  in  the  original  MS  : — 

« My  mother  is  a  high-horn  dame, 

And  much  rnisliketh  me ; 
She  saith  my  riot  bringeth  shame 

On  all  my  ancestry  : 
I  had  a  sister  once,  I  ween, 

Whose  tears  perhaps  will  flow  : 
But  her  fair  face  I  have  not  seen 

For  three  long  years  and  moe.'] 

8  [William  Fletcher,  the  faithful  valet ;  who,  after  a  service 
of  twenty  years,  ("during  which,"  he  says,  "  his  Lord  was  more 
to  him  than  a  father,")  received  the  Pilgrim's  last  words  atMisso- 
longhi,  and  did  not  quit  his  remains,  until  he  had  seen  them 
deposited  in  the  family  vault  at  Hucknall.  This  unsophisticated 
"  yeoman"  was  a  constant  source  of  pleasantry  to  his  master : — 
t.  g.  "  Fletcher,"  he  says  in  a  letter  to  his  mother,  "  is  not  valiant ; 
he  requires  comforts  that  I  can  dispense  with,  and  sighs  for  beer, 
and  beef,  and  tea,  and  his  wife,  and  the  devil  knows  what  besides. 
We  were  one  night  lost  in  a  thunder-storm,  and  since,  nearly 
wrecked.  In  both  cases  he  was  sorely  bewildered;  from  appre- 
hensions of  famine  and  banditti  in  the  first,  and  drowning  in  the 
second  instance.  His  eyes  were  a  little  hurt  by  the  lightning,  or 


CANTO  I.  P 1  L  G  It  1  M  A  G  E.  21 

7. 
*  My  spouse  and  boys  dwell  near  thy  hall, 

Along  the  bordering  lake, 
And  when  they  on  their  father  call, 

What  answer  shall  she  make?' — 
"  Enough,  enough,  my  yeoman  good, 

Thy  grief  let  none  gainsay  ; 
But  I,  who  am  of  lighter  mood, 

Will  laugh  to  flee  away.1 

\  r          8. 
"  For  who  would  trust  the  seeming  sighs 

Of  wife  or  paramour  ? 
Fresh  feres  will  dry  the  bright  blue  eyes 

We  late  saw  streaming  o'er.2 
For  pleasures  past  I  do  not  grieve, 

Nor  perils  gathering  near  ; 
My  greatest  grief  is  that  I  leave 

No  thing  that  claims  a  tear.3 

crying  I  don't  know  which.  I  did  what  I  could  to  console  him, 
hut  found  him  incorrigible.  He  sends  six  sighs  to  Sally.  I  shall 
settle  him  in  a  farm ;  for  he  has  served  me  faithfully,  and  Sally 
is  a  good  woman."  After  all  his  adventures  by  flood  and  field, 
short  commons  included,  this  humble  Achates  of  the  poet  has 
now  established  himself  as  the  keeper  of  an  Italian  warehouse, 
in  Charles  Street,  Berkeley  Square,  where,  if  he  does  not  thrive, 
every  one  who  knows  any  thing  of  his  character  will  say  he 
deserves  to  do  so.] 

1  ["  Enough,  enough,  my  yeoman  good, 

All  this  is  well  to  say ; 
But  if  I  in  thy  sandals  stood, 

I'd  laugh  to  get  away." — MS.] 
9  ["  For  who  would  trust  a  paramour, 

Or  e'en  a  wedded  freere, 
Though  her  blue  eyes  were  streaming  o'er, 

And  torn  her  yellow  hair!" — MS.] 

3  ["  I  leave  England  without  regret — I  shall  return  to  it  with- 
out pleasure.  I  am  like  Adam,  the  first  convict  sentenced  to 
transportation;  but  I  have  no  Eve,  and  have  eaten  no  apple  but 
what  was  as  sour  as  a  crab." — Lord  B.  to  Mr.  Hodgson.'] 


22  CHILDE  HAROLD'S  CA.NTO  I. 

9. 

"And  now  I'm  in  the  world  alone, 

Upon  the  wide,  wide  sea : 
But  why  should  I  for  others  groan, 

When  none  will  sigh  for  rne  ? 
Perchance  my  dog1  will  whine  in  vain, 

Till  fed  by  stranger  hands ; 
But  long  ere  I  come  back  again 

He'd  tear  me  where  he  stands.2 

10. 
"With  thee,  my  bark,  I'll  swiftly  go 

Athwart  the  foaming  brine ; 
Nor  care  what  land  thou  bear'st  me  to, 

So  not  again  to  mine, 
Welcome,  welcome,  ye  dark-blue  waves ! 

And  when  you  fail  my  sight, 
Welcome,  ye  deserts,  and  ye  caves  ! 

My  native  land — Good-night  !"3 

1  [From  the  following  passage  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Dallas,  it 
would  appear  that  that  gentleman  had  recommended  the  sup- 
pression or  alteration  of  this  stanza ; — "  I  do  not  mean  to  exchange 
the  ninth  verse  of  the  «  Good  Night.'  I  have  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose my  dog  better  than  his  brother  brutes,  mankind ;  and  Argus 
we  know  to  be  a  fable."] 

a  [Here  follows  in  the  original  MS 

"  Methinks  it  would  my  bosom  glad 

To  change  my  proud  estate, 
And  be  again  a  laughing  lad 

With  one  beloved  playmate, 
Since  youth  I  scarce  have  passed  an  hour 

Without  disgust  or  pain, 
Except  sometimes  in  lady's  bower,  . 

Or  when  the  bowl  I  drain."] 

8  [Originally? tne  ''  little  page"  and  the  "  yeoman"  were  intro- 
duced in  the  following  stanzas : — 

"  And  of  his  train  there  was  a  henchman  page, 
A  peasant  boy,  who  served  his  master  well ; 
And  often  would  his  pranksome  prate  engage 
Childe  Harold's  ear,  when  his  proud  heart  did  swell 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  23 

%flK 
_£ 

On,  on  thj  vessel  flies,  the  land  is  gone, 
And    .  inds  are  rude  in  Biscay's  sleepless  bay. 
Fojr  days  are  sped,  but  with  the  fifth,  anon, 
N<  w  shores  descried  make  every  bosom  gay ; 
A  id  Cintra's  mountain  greets  them  on  their  way, 
A  nd  Tagus  dashing  onward  to  the  deep, 
Jiis  fabled  golden  tribute  bent  to  pay ; 
And  soon  on  board  the  Lusian  pilots  leap,     [reap. 
And  steer  'twixt  fertile  shores  where  yet  few  rustics 

xv. 

Oh,  Christ !  it  is  a  goodly  sight  to  see 
What  Heaven  hath  done  for  this  delicious  land  !   * 
What  fruits  of  fragrance  blush  on  every  tree  ! ' 
What  goodly  prospects  o'er  the  hills  expand ! 
But  man  would  mar  them  with  an  impious  hand : 
And  when  the  Almighty  lifts  his  fiercest  scourge 
'Gainst  those  who  most  transgress  his  high  command, 
With  treble  vengeance  will  his  hot  shafts  urge 
Gaul'slocust  host,  and  earth  from  fellest  foemanpurge.1 

With  sable  thoughts  that  he  disdain'd  to  tell ; 
Then  would  he  smile  on  him,  and  Alwin  smiled, 
When  aught  that  from  his  young  lips  archly  fell 
The  gloomy  film  from  Harold's  eye  beguiled ; 
And  pleased  for  a  glimpse  appear'd  the  woeful  Chiide. 

"  Him  and  one  yeoman  only  did  he  take 
To  travel  eastward  to  a  far  countrie ; 
And,  though  the  boy  was  grieved  to  leave  the  lake 
On  whose  fair  banks  he  grew  from  infancy, 
Eftsoons  his  little  heart  beat  merrily 
With  hope  of  foreign  nations  to  behold, 
And  many  things  right  marvellous  to  see, 
Of  which  our  vaunting  voyagers  oft  have  told, 
In  many  a  tome  as  true  as  Mandeville's  of  old."] 

1  ["  These  Lusian  brutes,  and  earth  from  woist  of  wretchei 
purge."— MS.] 


24  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

XVI. 

What  beauties  doth  Lisboa1  first  unfold  ! 
Her  image  floating  on  that  noble  tide, 
Which  poets  vainly  pave  with  sands  of  gold,3 
But  now  whereon  a  thousand  keels  did  ride 
Of  mighty  strength,  since  Albion  was  allied, 
And  to  the  Lusians  did  her  aid  afford  : 
A  nation  swoln  with  ignorance  and  pride, 
Who  lick  yet  loathe  the  hand  that  waves  the  sword 
To  save  them  from  the  wrath  of  Gaul's  unsparing  lord.3 

H^C  XVH. 

Bat  whoso  entereth  within  this  town, 
That,  sheening  far,  celestial  seems  to  be, 
Disconsolate  will  wander  up  and  down, 
Mid  many  things  unsightly  to  strange  ee  ;4 
For  hut  and  palace  show  like  filthily : 
The  dingy  denizens  are  rear'd  in  dirt ; 
No  personage  of  high  or  mean  degree 
Doth  care  for  cleanness  of  surtout  or  shirt, 
Though  shent  with  Egypt's  plague,  unkempt,  un- 
wash'd;  unhurt. 

*  ["  A  friend  advises  Ulissipont ;  but  Lisboa  is  the  Portuguese 
word,  consequently  the  best.     Ulissipont  is  pedantic ;  and  as  I 
had  lugged  in  Hellas  and  Eros  not  long  before,  there  would  have 
been  something  like  an  affectation  of  Greek  terms,  which  I 
wished  to  avoid.     On  the  submission  of  Lusitania  to  the  Moors, 
they  changed  the  name  of  the  capital,  which  till  then  had.  been 
Ulisipo,  or  Lispo ;  because,  in  the  Arabic  alphabet,  the  letter  p 
is  not  used.     Hence,  I  believe,  Lisboa;  whence,  again,  the 
French  Lisbonne,  and  our  Lisbon, — God  knows  which  the  earlier 
corruption !" — Byron,  MS.] 

*  ["  Which  poets,  prone  to  lie,  have  paved  with  gold." — MS.] 
8  [By  comparing  this  and  the  thirteen  following  stanzas 

with  the  account  of  his  progress  which  Lord  Byron  sent  horns 
to  his  mother,  the  reader  will  see  that  they  are  the  exact  echoes 
of  the  thoughts  which  occurred  to  his  mind  as  he  went  over  the 
spots  described. — MOORE.] 

*  ["  Mid  many  things  that  grieve  both  nose  and  ee." — MS.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  25 

XVIII. 

Poor,  paltry  slaves !  yet  born  'midst  noblest  scenes — 
Why,  Nature,  waste  thy  wonders  on  such  men  ? 
Lo !  Cintra's1  glorious  Eden  intervenes 
In  variegated  maze  of  mount  and  glen. 
Ah,  me  !  what  hand  can  pencil  guide,  or  pen, 
To  follow  half  on  which  the  eye  dilates 
Through  views  more  dazzling  unto  mortal  ken 
Than  those  whereof  such  things  the  bard  relates, 
Who  to  the  awe-struck  world  unlock'd  Elysium's 
gates  ? 

XIX. 

The  horrid  crags,  by  toppling  convent  crown'd, 
The  cork-trees  hoar  that  clothe  the  shaggy  steep, 
The  mountain-moss  by  scorching  skies  imbrovvn'd, 
The  sunken  glen,  whose  sunless  shrubs  must  weep, 
The  tender  azure  of  the  unruffled  deep, 
The  orange  tints  that  gild  the  greenest  bough, 
The  torrents  that  from  cliff  to  valley  leap, 
The  vine  on  high,  the  willow  branch  below, 
Mix'd  in  one  mighty  scene,  with  varied  beauty  glow. 


XX. 

Then  slowly  climb  the  many-winding  way, 
And  frequent  turn  to  linger  as  you  go, 

1  [•'  To  make  amends  for  the  filthiness  of  Lisbon,  and  its  still 
filthier  inhabitants,  the  village  of  Cintra,  about  fifteen  mfles  from 
the  capital,  is,  perhaps,  in  every  respect,  the  most  delightful  in 
Europe.  It  contains  beauties  of  every  description,  natural  and 
artificial :  palaces  and  gardens  rising  in  the  midst  of  rocks,  cata- 
racts, and  precipices  ;  convents  on  stupendous  heights ;  a  distant 
view  of  the  sea  and  the  Tagus ;  and,  besides,  (though  that  is  a 
secondary  consideration,)  is  remarkable  as  th«  scene  of  Sir  Hew 
Dalrymple's  convention.  It  unites  in  itself  all  the  wildness  of 
the  western  Highlands  with  the  verdure  of  the  south  of  France." 
—LurdJj.  to  Mrs.  Byron,  1809.] 
3 


26  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

From  loftier  rocks  new  loveliness  survey 
And  rest  ye  at  "  Our  Lady's  house  of  woe  ;"* 
Where  frugal  monks  their  little  relics  show, 
And  sundry  legends  to  the  stranger  tell  : 
Here  impious  men  have  punish'd  been,  and,  lo  ! 
Deep  in  yon  cave  Honorius  long  did  dwell, 
In  hope  to  merit  Heaven  by  making  earth  a  Hell. 


IV 


XXI. 

And  here  and  there,  as  up  the  crags  you  spring, 
Mark  many  rude-carved  crosses  near  the  path : 
Yet  deem  not  these  devotion's  offering — 
These  are  memorials  frail  of  murderous  wrath : 
For  wheresoever  the  shrieking  victim  hath 
Pour'd  forth  his  blood  beneath  the  assassin's  knife, 
Some  hand  erects  a  cross  of  mouldering  lath ; 
And  grove  and  glen  with  thousand  such  are  rife 
Throughout  this  purple  land,  where  law  secures  not 
life.2 

1  The  convent  of  "  Our  Lady  of  Punishment,"  Nossa  Senora 
de  Pena,  on  the  summit  of  the  rock.  Below,  at  some  distance,  is 
the  Cork  Convent,  where  St.  Honorius  dug  his  den,  over  which 
is  his  epitaph.  From  the  hills,  the  sea  adds  to  the  beauty  of  the 
view. — Note  to  1st  Edition. — Since  the  publication  of  this  poem, 
I  have  been  informed  of  the  misapprehension  of  the  term  Hfossa 
Senora  de  Pena.  It  was  owing  to  the  want  of  the  tilde  or  mark 
over  the  *,  which  alters  the  signification  of  the  word :  with  it, 
Pena,  signifies  a  rock ;  without  it,  Pena  has  the  sense  I  adopted. 
/  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  alter  the  passage ;  as,  though  the 
common  acceptation  affixed  to  it  is  "  Our  Lady  of  the  Rock,"  I 
may  well  assume  the  other  sense  from  the  severities  practised 
there. — Note  to  2d  Edition. 

9  It  is  a  well  known  fact,  that  in  the  year  1809,  the  assassina- 
tions in  the  streets  of  Lisbon  and  its  vicinity  were  not  confined 
by  the  Portuguese  to  their  countrymen ;  but  that  Englishmen 
were  daily  butchered :  and  so  far  from  redress  being  obtained, 
we  were  requested  not  to  interfere  if  we  perceived  any  compatriot 
defending  himself  against  his  allies.  I  was  once  stopped  in  the 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  27 

XXII. 

On  sloping  mounds,  or  in  the  vale  beneath, 
Are  domes  where  whilome  kings  did  make  repair: 
But  now  the  wild  flowers  round  them  only  breathe; 
Yet  ruin'd  splendour  still  is  lingering  there. 
And  yonder  towers  the  prince's  palace  fair : 
There  thou  too,  Vathek  I1  England's  wealthiest  son, 
Once  form'd  thy  Paradise,  as  not  aware 


way  to  the  theatre  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening1,  when  the 
streets  were  not  more  empty  than  they  generally  are  at  that  hour, 
opposite  to  an  open  shop,  and  in  a  carriage  with  a  friend  :  had  \ve 
not  fortunately  been  armed,  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  we 
should  have  "  adorned  a  tale"  instead  of  telling  one.  The  crime 
of  assassination  is  not  confined  to  Portugal :  in  Sicily  and  Malta 
we  are  knocked  on  the  head  at  a  handsome  average  nightly,  and 
not  a  Sicilian  or  Maltese  is  ever  punished ! 

1  ["  Vathek"  (says  Lord  Byron,  in  one  of  his  diaries)  "  was 
one  of  the  tales  I  had  a  very  early  admiration  of.  For  correctness 
of  costume,  beauty  of  description,  and  power  of  imagination,  it  far 
surpasses  all  European  imitations ;  and  bears  such  marks  of 
originality,  that  those  who  have  visited  the  East  will  find  some 
difficulty  in  believing  it  to  be  more  than  a  translation.  As  an 
eastern  tale,  even  Rasselas  must  bow  before  it ;  his  '  happy  val- 
ley' will  not  bear  a  comparison  with  the  '  Hall  of  Eblis.'  " — 
\Villiam  Beckford,  Esq.,  son  of  the  once-celebrated  alderman, 
and  heir  to  his  enormous  wealth,  published,  at  the  early  age  of 
eighteen,  »  Memoirs  of  extraordinary  Painters  ;"  and  in  the  year 
after,  the  romance  thus  eulogized.  After  sitting  for  Hindon  in 
several  parliaments,  this  gifted  person  was  induced  to  fix,  for  a 
time,  his  residence  in  Portugal,  where  the  memory  of  his  mag- 
nificence was  fresh  at  the  period  of  Lord  Byron's  pilgrimage. 
Returning  to  England,  he  realized  all  the  outward  shows  of  Gothic 
grandeur  in  his  unsubstantial  pageant  of  Fonthill  Abbey ;  and 
has  more  recently  been  indulging  his  fancy  with  another,  probably 
not  more  lasting,  monument  of  architectural  caprice,  in  the  vici- 
nity of  Bath.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted,  that,  after  a  lapse  of 
fifty  years,  Mr.  Beckford's  literary  reputation  should  continue  to 
rest  on  his  juvenile  performances.  It  is  said,  however,  that  hn 
has  prepared  several  works  for  posthumous  publication  ] 


28  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

When  wanton  Wealth  her  mightiest  deeds  hath  done, 
Meek  Peace  voluptuous  lures  was  ever  wont  to  shun.1 

XXIII. 

Here  didst  thou  dwell,  here  schemes  of  pleasure  plan, 
Beneath  yon  mountain's  ever  beauteous  brow  : 
But  now,  as  if  a  thing  unbless'd  by  man, 
Thy  fairy  dwelling  is  as  lone  as  thou  ! 
Plere  giant  weeds  a  passage  scarce  allow 
To  halls  deserted,  portals  gaping  wide : 
Fresh  lessons  to  the  thinking  bosom,  how 
Vain  are  the  pleasaunces  on  earth  supplied  ; 
Swept  into  wrecks  anon  by  Time's  ungentle  tide  ! 

XXIV. 

Behold  the  hall  where  chiefs  were  late  convened!* 
Oh  !  dome  displeasing  unto  British  eye  ! 
With  diadem  hight  foolscap,  lo  !  a  fiend, 
A  little  fiend  that  scoffs  incessantly, 
There  sits  in  parchment  robe  array 'd  and  by 
His  side  is  hung  a  seal  and  sable  scroll, 
Where  blazon'd  glare  names  known  to  chivalry, 
And  sundry  signatures  adorn  the  roll, 
Whereat  the  urchin  points  and  laughs  with  all  his  soul.3 

1  ["  When  Wealth  and  Taste  their  worst  and  best  have  done, 
Meek  Peace  pollution's  lure  voluptuous  still  must  shun." 
—MS.] 

3  The  Convention  of  Cintra  was  signed  in  the  palace  of  the 
Marchese  Marialva. — ["  The  armistice,  the  negotiations,  the  con- 
vention itself,  and  the  execution  of  its  provisions,  were  all  com- 
menced, conducted,  and  concluded,  at  the  distance  of  thirty  miles 
from  Cintra,  with  which  place  they  had  not  the  slightest  con- 
nection, political,  military,  or  local ;  yet  Lord  Byron  has  gravely 
asserted,  in  prose  and  verse,  that  the  convention  was  signed  at 
the  Marquis  of  Marialva's  house  at  Cintra;  and  the  author  of 
'The  Diary  of  an  Invalid,'  improving  upon  the  poet's  discovery, 
detected  the  stains  of  the  ink  spilt  by  Junot  upon  the  occasion." 
— Napier's  History  of  the  Peninsular  War.~\ 

3  The  passage  stood  differently  in  the  original  MS.     Some 


I.  PILGRIMAGE.  29 

XXV. 

Convention  is  the  dwarfish  demon  styled 
i  That  foil'd  the  knights  in  Marialva's  dome  : 
'Of  brains  (if  brains  they  had)  he  them  beguiled, 
And  turn'd  a  nation's  shallow  joy  to  gloom. 
Here  Folly  dash'd  to  earth  the  victor's  plume, 
And  policy  regained  what  arms  had  lost : 
For  chiefs  like  ours  in  vain  may  laurels  bloom  ! 

verses  which  the  poet  omitted  at  the  entreaty  of  his  friends  can 
now  offend  no  one,  and  may  perhaps  amuse  many : — 
In  golden  characters  right  well  design'd, 
First  on  the  list  appeareth  one  "  Junot ;" 
Then  certain  other  glorious  names  we  find, 
Which  rhyme  compelleth  me  to  place  below ! 
Dull  victors !  baffled  by  a  vanquish'd  foe, 
Wheedled  by  conynge  tongues  of  laurels  due, 
Stand,  worthy  of  each  other,  in  a  row — 
Sir  Arthur,  Harry,  and  the  dizzard  Hew 
Dalrymple,  seely  wight,  sore  dupe  of  t'other  tew. 

Convention  is  the  dwarfish  demon  styled 
That  foil'd  the  knights  in  Marialva's  dome : 
Of  brains  (if  brains  they  had)  he  them  beguiled 
And  turn'd  a  nation's  shallow  joy  to  gloom. 
For  well  I  wot,  when  first  the  news  did  come, 
That  Vimiera's  field  by  Gaul  was  lost, 
For  paragraph  ne  paper  scarce  had  room, 
Such  paeans  teem'd  for  our  triumphant  host, 
In  Courier,  Chronicle,  and  eke  in  Morning  Post: 

But  when  convention  sent  his  handy-work, 
Pens,  tongues,  feet,  hands,  combined  in  wild  uproar ; 
Mayor,  alderman,  laid  down  the  uplifted  fork ; 
The  Bench  of  Bishops  half  forgot  to  snore ; 
Stern  Cobbett,  who  for  one  whole  week  forbore 
To  question  aught,  once  more  with  transport  leapt, 
And  bit  his  devilish  quill  agen,  and  swore 
With  foe  such  treaty  never  should  be  kept,  [slept! 

Then  burst  the  blatant*  beast,  and  roar'd,  and  raged,  and — 


*  "  Blatant  benst"  —  a  figure  for  the  mob,  I  think  first  used  by  Smollett  in  his 
"  Adventures  of  an  Atom."     Horace  has  the  "  bellua  multorum  capitum  :"  in 
England,  fortunately  enough,  the  illustrious  mobility  have  not  even  one. 
3* 


30  CHILDE    HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

Woe  to  the  conquering,  not  the  conquer'd  host, 
Since  baffled  Triumph  droops  on  Lusitania's  coast ! 

XXVI. 

And  ever  since  that  martial  synod  met, 
Bri'tannia  sickens,  Cintra  !  at  thy  name  ; 
And  folks  in  office  at  the  mention  fret, 
And  fain  would  blush,  if  blush  they  could,  for  shame. 
How  will  posterity  the  deed  proclaim  ! 
Will  not  our  own  and  fellow-nations  sneer 
To  view  these  champions  cheated  of  their  fame, 
By  foes  in  fight  o'erthrown,  yet  victors  here,  [year? 
Where  Scorn  her  finger  points  through  many  a  coming 

XXVII. 

So  deem'd  the  Childe  as  o'er  the  mountains  he 
Did  take  his  way  in  solitary  guise  : 
Sweet  was  the  scene,  yet  soon  he  thought  to  flee, 
More  restless  than  the  swallow  in  the  skies  : 
Though  here  a  while  he  learn'd  to  moralize, 
For  Meditation  fix'd  at  times  on  him ; 
i      And  conscious  Reason  whisper'd  to  despise 

His  early  youth,  misspent  in  maddest  whim ; 
But  as  he  gazed  on  truth  his  aching  eyes  grew  dim. 

Thus  unto  Heaven  appeal'd  the  people :  Heaven, 
Which  loves  the  lieges  of  our  gracious  king, 
Decreed  that,  ere  our  generals  were  forgiven, 
Inquiry  should  be  held  about  the  thing. 
But  Mercy  cloak'd  the  babes  beneath  her  wing ; 
And  as  they  spared  our  foes,  so  spared  we  them ; 
(Where  was  the  pity  of  our  sires  for  Byng?*) 
Yet  knaves,  not  idiots,  should  the  law  condemn ; 
Then  live,  ye  gallant  knights !  and  bless  your  j  udges'  phlegm ! 

*  By  this  query  it  is  not  meant  that  our  foolish  generals  should  have  been 
shot,  but  that  Byng  might  have  been  spared,  though  the  one  suffered  and  the 
others  escaped,  probably  for  Candide's  reason,  "pour  encourager  lesaulres." 
[See  Croker's  "Boswell,"  vol.  i.  p.  298;  and  the  Quarterly  Review,  vol.  xxvil. 
p.  207,  where  the  question,  whether  the  admiral  was  or  was  not  a  political 
martyr,  is  treated  at  large.] 


CAXTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  31 

XXVIII. 

To  horse  !  to  horse  I1  he  quits,  forever  quits 
A  scene  of  peace,  though  soothing  to  his  soul : 
Again  he  rouses  from  his  moping  fits, 
But  seeks  not  now  the  harlot  and  the  bowl. 
^   Onward  he  flies,  nor  fix'd  as  yet  the  goal 
Where  he  shall  rest  him  on  his  pilgrimage ; 
And  o'er  him  many  changing  scenes  must  roll 
Ere  toil  his  thirst  for  travel  can  assuage, 
Or  he  shall  calm  his  breast,  or  learn  experience  sage. 

XXIX. 

Yet  Mafra  shall  one  moment  claim  delay, 
Where  dwelt  of  yore  the  Lusians'  luckless  queen;8 
And  church  and  court  did  mingle  their  array, 
And  mass  and  revel  were  alternate  seen ; 
Lordlings  and  freres — ill-sorted  fry,  I  ween  ! 
But  here  the  Babylonian  whore  hath  built3 
A  dome,  where  flaunts  she  in  such  glorious  sheen, 
That  men  forget  the  blood  which  she  hath  spilt, 
And  bow  the  knee  to  pomp,  that  loves  to  varnish  guilt. 

1  ["  After  remaining  ten  days  in  Lisbon,  we  sent  our  baggage 
and  part  of  our  servants  by  sea  to  Gibraltar,  and  travelled  on 
horseback  to  Seville ;  a  distance  of  nearly  four  hundred  miles. 
The  horses  are  excellent :  we  rode  seventy  miles  a-day.  Eggs 
and  wine,  and  hard  beds,  are  all  the  accommodation  we  found, 
and,  in  such  torrid  weather,  quite  enough." — B.  Letters,  1809.] 

9  "  Her  luckless  majesty  went  subsequently  mad  ;  and  Dr 
Willis,  who  so  dexterously  cudgelled  kingly  pericraniuras,  could 
make  nothing  of  hers." — Byron  MS.  [The  queen  laboured 
under  a  melancholy  kind  of  derangement,  from  which  she  nevei 
recovered.  She  died  at  the  Brazils,  in  1816.] 

3  The  extent  of  Mafra  is  prodigious:  it  contains  a  palace, 
convent,  and  most  superb  church.  The  six  organs  are  the  most 
beautiful  I  ever  beheld,  in  point  of  decoration :  we  did  not  hear 
them,  but  were  told  that  their  tones  were  correspondent  to  theii 
splendour.  Mafra  is  termed  the  Escurial  of  Portugal.  ["  About 
ten  miles  to  the  right  of  Cintra,"  says  Lord  Byron,  in  a  letter  to 


32  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  t)ANTo  I. 

xxx 

O'er  vales  that  teem  with  fruits,  romantic  hills, 
(Oh,  that  such  hills  upheld  a  freeborn  race  !) 
Whereon  to  gaze  the  eye  with  joyaunce  fills, 
Childe   Harold  wends  through  many  a  pleasant 

place. 

Though  sluggards  deem  it  but  a  foolish  chase, 
And  marvel  men  should  quit  their  easy  chair, 
The  toilsome  way,  and  long,  long  league  to  trace, 
Oh  !  there  is  sweetness  in  the  mountain  air, 
And  life,  that  bloated  Ease  can  never  hope  to  share. 

XXXI. 

More  bleak  to  view  the  hills  at  length  recede, 
And,  less  luxuriant,  smoother  vales  extend ; 
Immense  horizon-bounded  plains  succeed  ! 
Far  as  the  eye  discerns,  withouten  end, 
Spain's  realms  appear,  whereon  her  shepherds  tend 
Flocks,  whose  rich  fleece  right  well  the  trader 

knows — 

Now  must  the  pastor's  arm  his  lambs  defend : 
For  Spain  is  compassed  by  unyielding  foes, 
And  all  must  shield  their  all,  or  share  Subjection's 
woes. 


his  mother,  "  is  the  palace  of  Mafra,  the  boast  of  Portugal,  as  it 
might  be  of  any  country,  in  point  of  magnificence,  without  ele- 
gance. There  is  a  convent  annexed  :  the  monks,  who  possess 
large  revenues,  are  courteous  enough,  and  understand  Latin ;  so 
that  we  had  a  long  conversation.  They  have  a  large  library,  and 
asked  me  if  the  English  had  any  books  in  their  country." — Mafra 
was  erected  by  John  V.,  in  pursuance  of  a  vow,  made  in  a  danger- 
ous fit  of  illness,  to  found  a  convent  for  the  use  of  the  poorest 
friary  in  the  kingdom.  Upon  inquiry,  this  poorest  was  found  at 
Mafra;  where  twelve  Franciscans  lived  together  in  a  hut. 
There  is  a  magnificent  view  of  the  existing  edifice  in  Finden's 
"Illustrations."] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  33 

XXXII. 

Where  Lusitanfo.  and  her  sister  meet, 
Deem  ye  what  bounds  the  rival  realms  divide? 
Or  ere  the  jealous  queens  of  nations  greet, 
Doth  Tayo  interpose  his  mighty  tide? 
Or  dark  Sierras  rise  in  craggy  pride  ? 
Or  fence  of  art,  like  China's  vasty  wall  ? — * 
Ne  barrier  wall,  ne  river  deep  and  wide, 
Ne  horrid  crags,  nor  mountains  dark  and  tall, 
Rise  like  the  rocks  that  part  Hispania's  land  from 
Gaul: 

XXXIII. 

But  these  between  a  silver  streamlet  glides, 
And  scarce  a  name  distinguisheth  the  brook, 
Though  rival  kingdoms  press  its  verdant  sides. 
Here  leans  the  idle  shepherd  on  his  crook, 
And  vacant  on  the  rippling  waves  doth  look, 
That  peaceful  still  'twixt  bitterest  foemen  flow  ; 
For  proud  each  peasant  as  the  noblest  duke: 
/       Well  doth  the  Spanish  hind  the  difference  know 
v    'Twixt  him  and  Lusian  slave,  the  lowest  of  the  low.3 

xxxiv. 

But  ere  the  mingling  bounds  have  far  been  pass'd, 
Dark  Guadiana  rolls  his  power  along3 

1  [Or  art's  vain  fence,  like  China's  vasty  wall  ? — MS.] 
8  As  I  found  the  Portuguese,  so  I  have  characterized  them. 
That  they  are  since  improved,  at  least  in  courage,  is  evident. 
The  late  exploits  of  Lord  Wellington  have  effaced  the  follies  of 
Cintra.  He  has,  indeed,  done  wonders:  he  has,  perhaps, 
changed  the  character  of  a  nation,  reconciled  rival  superstitions 
and  baffled  an  enemy  who  never  retreated  before  his  predeces 
sors. — 1812. 

3  ["  But  ere  the  bounds  of  Spain  have  far  been  pass'd, 
Forever  famed  in  many  a  noted  song." — MS.] 


34  CH1LDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

In  sullen  billows,  murmuring  and  vast, 
So  noted  ancient  roundelays  among.1 
Whilome  upon  his  banks  did  legions  throng 
Of  Moor  and  knight,  in  mailed  splendour  drest : 
Here  ceased  the  swift  their  race,  here  sunk  the 

strong ; 

The  Paynirn  turban  and  the  Christian  crest 
Mix'd  on  the   bleeding  stream,   by   floating  hosts 

oppress'd. 

XXXV. 

Oh,  lovely  Spain  !  renown'd  romantic  land  ! 
Where  is  that  standard  which  Pelagio  bore, 
When  Cava's  traitor-sire  first  call'd  the  band 
That  dyed  thy  mountain  streams  with  Gothic  gore?2 
Where  are  those  bloody  banners  which  of  yore 
Waved  o'er  thy  sons,  victorious  to  the  gale, 
And  drove  at  last  the  spoilers  to  their  shore  ? 
Red  gleam'd  the  cross,  and  waned  the  crescent  pale, 
While  Afric's  echoes  thrill'd  with  Moorish  matrons' 
wail. 

1  [Lord  Byron  seems  to  have  thus  early  acquired  enough  of 
Spanish  to  understand  and  appreciate  the  grand  body  of  ancient 
popular  poetry, — unequalled  in  Europe,— which  must  ever  form 
the  pride  of  that  magnificent  language.  See  his  beautiful  version 
of  one  of  the  best  of  the  ballads  of  the  Grenada  war — the  "  Ro- 
mance muy  doloroso  del  sitiq  y  toma  de  Alhama."  Vol.  ii.  p. 
354.] 

3  Count  Julian's  daughter,  the  Helen  of  Spain.  Pelagius  pre- 
served his  independence  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  Asturias,  and  the 
descendants  of  his  followers,  after  some  centuries,  completed 
their  struggle  by  the  conquest  of  Grenada. — ["Almost  all  the 
Spanish  historians,  as  well  as  the  voice  of  tradition,  ascribe  the 
invasion  of  the  Moors  to  the  forcible  violation  by  Roderick  of 
Florinda,  called  by  the  Moors  Caba,  or  Cava.  She  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Count  Julian,  one  of  the  Gothic  monarch's  principal  lieu- 
tenants, who,  when  the  crime  was  perpetrated,  was  engaged  in  the 
defence  of  Ceuta  against  the  Moors.  In  his  indignation  at  the  in- 
gratitude of  his  sovereign,  and  the  dishonour  of  his  daughter, 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  35 

XXXVI. 

Teems  not  each  ditty  with  the  glorious  tale  ? 
Ah !  such,  alas!  the  hero's  amplest  fate  ! 
When  granite  moulders  and  when  records  fail, 
A  peasant's  plaint  prolongs  his  dubious  date. 
Pride  !  bend  thine  eye  from  heaven  to  thine  estate, 
See  how  the  mighty  shrink  into  a  song  ! 
Can  volume,  pillar,  pile,  preserve  thee  great  ? 
Or  must  thou  trust  Tradition's  simple  tongue, 
When  Flattery  sleeps  with  thee,  and  History  does 
thee  wrong? 


XXXVII. 

Awake,  ye  sons  of  Spain  !  awake  !  advance  ! 
Lo  !  Chivalry,  your  ancient  goddess,  cries ; 
But  wields  not,  as  of  old,  her  thirsty  lance, 
Nor  shakes  her  crimson  plumage  in  the  skies : 
Nor  in  the  smoke  of  blazing  bolts  she  flies, 
And  speaks  in  thunder  through  yon  engine's  roar : 
In  every  peal  she  calls — "  Awake  !  arise  !" 
Say,  is  her  voice  more  feeble  than  of  yore, 
When  her  war-song  was  heard  on  Andalusia's  shore . 

XXXVIII. 

Hark  !  heard  you  not  those  hoofs  of  dreadful  note  ? 
Sounds  not  the  clang  of  conflict  on  the  heath  ? 

Count  Julian  forgot  the  duties  of  a  Christian  and  a  patriot,  and, 
forming  an  alliance  with  Musa,  then  the  Caliph's  lieutenant  in 
Africa,  he  countenanced  the  invasion  of  Spain  by  a  body  of  Sara- 
cens and  Africans,  commanded  by  the  celebrated  Tarik ;  the  issue 
of  which  was  the  defeat  and  death  of  Roderick,  and  the  occupation 
of  almost  the  whole  peninsula  by  the  Moors.  The  Spaniards,  iri 
detestation  of  Florinda's  memory,  are  said,  by  Cervantes,  never 
to  bestow  that  name  upon  any  human  female,  reserving  it  for  their 
dogs." — SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  Poetical  Works,  vol.  ix.  p.  375.] 


3G  C  HI  LDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO!. 

Saw  ye  not  whom  the  reeking  sabre  smote  ; 
Nor  saved  your  brethren  ere  they  sank  beneath 
Tyrants  and  tyrants'  slaves? — the  fires  of  death, 
The  bale-fires  flash  on  high ; — from  rock  to  rock 
Each  volley  tells  that  thousands  cease  to  breathe  ; 
Death  rides  upon  the  sulphury  siroc,1 
Red  Battle  stamps  his  foot,  and  nations  feel  the  shock 

XXXIX. 

Lo  !  where  the  Giant  on  the  mountain  stands, 
His  blood-red  tresses  deepening  in  the  sun, 
With  death-shot  glowing  in  his  fiery  hands, 
And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon ; 
Restless  it  rolls,  now  fix'd,  and  now  anon 
Flashing  afar, — and  at  his  iron  feet 
Destruction  cowers,  to  mark  what  deeds  are  done ; 
For  on  this  morn  three  potent  nations  meet, 
To  shed  before  his  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most 
sweet.2 


XL. 

By  Heaven  !  it  is  a  splendid  sight  to  see 
(For  one  who  hath  no  friend,  no  brother  there) 
Their  rival  scarfs  of  mix'd  embroidery, 
Their  various  arms  that  glitter  in  the  air ! 

1  [ "  from  rock  to  rock 

Blue  columns  soar  aloft  in  sulphurous  wreath, 
Fragments  on  fragments  in  confusion  knock." — MS.] 

2  ["  A  bolder  prosopopoeia,"  says  a  nameless  critic,  "  or  one 
better  imagined  or  expressed,  cannot  easily  be  found  in  the  whole 
range  of  ancient  and  modern  poetry.     Unlike  the  'plume  of 
Horror,'  or  the  '  eagle-winged  Victory,'  described  by  our  great 
epic  poet,  this  gigantic  figure  is  a  distinct  object,  perfect  in  linea- 
ments, tremendous  in  operation,  and  vested  with  all  the  attributes 
calculated  to  excite  terror  and  admiration."] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  37 

What  gallant  war-hounds  rouse  them  from  their  lair, 
And  gnash  their  fangs,  loud  yelling  for  the  prey  ! 
All  join  the  chase,  but  few  the  triumph  share ; 
The  grave  shall  bear  the  chiefest  prize  away, 
And  Havoc  scarce  for  joy  can  number  their  array. 

XLI. 

Three  hosts  combine  to  offer  sacrifice ; 
Three  tongues  prefer  strange  orisons  on  high  ; 
Three  gaudy  standards  flout  the  pale  blue  skies  ; 
The  shouts  are  France,  Spain,  Albion,  Victory  ! 
The  foe,  the  victim,  and  the  fond  ally 
That  fights  for  all,  but  ever  fights  in  vain, 
Are  met — as  if  at  home  they  could  not  die- 
To  feed  the  crow  on  Talavera's  plain, 
And  fertilize  the  field  that  each  pretends  to  gain ' 

1  [We  think  it  right  to  restore  here  a  note  which  Lord  Byron 
himself  suppressed  with  reluctance,  at  the  urgent  request  of  a 
friend.  It  alludes,  inter  alia,  to  the  then  recent  publication  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  "  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,"  of  which  work  the 
profits  had  been  handsomely  given  to  the  cause  of  Portuguese 
patriotism : — "  We  have  heard  wonders  of  the  Portuguese  lately, 
and  their  gallantry.  Pray  Heaven  it  continue ;  yet  '  would  it 
were  bedtime,  Hal,  and  all  were  well !'  They  must  fight  a  great 
many  hours,  by  '  Shrewsbury  clock,'  before  the  number  of  their 
slain  equals  that  of  our  own  countrymen  butchered  by  these  kind 
creatures,  now  metamorphosed  into  '  cacadores,'  and  what  not.  I 
merely  state  a  fact,  not  confined  to  Portugal ;  for  in  Sicily  and 
Malta  we  are  knocked  on  the  head  at  a  handsome  average  nightly, 
and  not  a  Sicilian  and  Maltese  is  ever  punished !  The  neglect  of 
protection  is  disgraceful  to  our  government  and  governors ;  for 
the  murders  are  as  notorious  as  the  moon  that  shines  upon  them, 
and  the  apathy  that  overlooks  them.  The  Portuguese,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  are  complimented  with  the '  Forlorn  Hope,' — if  the  cowards 
are  become  brave,  (like  the  rest  of  their  kind,  in  a  corner,)  pray  let 
them  display  it.  But  there  is  a  subscription  for  these  '  flpaoWttAoi,' 
(they  need  not  be  ashamed  of  the  epithet  once  applied  to  the 
Spartans;)  and  all  the  charitable  patronymics,  from  ostentatious 
A.  to  diffident  Z.,  and  I/.  Is.  QJ.  from  '  An  Admirer  of  Valour,'  are 
in  requisition  for  the  lists  at  Lloyd's,  and  the  honour  of  British 
4 


38  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

XLII. 

There  shall  they  rot — Ambition's  honour'd  fools  !l 
Yes,  Honour  decks  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ! 
Vain  Sophistry  !  in  these  behold  the  tools, 
The  broken  tools  that  tyrants  cast  away 

benevolence.  Well!  we  have  fought,  and  subscribed,  and  bestowed 
peerages,  and  buried  the  killed  by  our  friends  and  foes;  and,  lo! 
all  this  is  to  be  done  over  again!  Like  Lien  Chi,  (in  Goldsmith's 
Citizen  of  the  World,)  as  we  'grow  older,  we  grow  never  the 
better.'  It  would  be  pleasant  to  learn  who  will  subscribe  for  us, 
in  or  about  the  year  1815,  and  what  nation  will  send  fifty  thousand 
men,  first  to  be  decimated  in  the  capital,  and  then  decimated  again 
(in  the  Irish  fashion,  nine  out  of  ten)  in  the  'bed  of  honour;' 
which,  as  Sergeant  Kite  says,  is  considerably  larger  and  mere 
commodious  than  '  the  bed  cf  Ware.'  Then  they  must  have  a 
poet  to  write  the  '  Vision  of  Don  Perceval,'  and  generously  bestow 
the  profits  of  the  well  and  widely  printed  quarto,  to  rebuild  the 
'  Backwynd'  and  the  '  Canongate,'  or  furnish  new  kilts  for  the 
half-roasted  Highlanders.  Lord  Wellington,  how  ever,  has  enacted 
marvels ;  and  so  did  his  oriental  brother,  whom  I  saw  chariot- 
eering over  the  French  flag,  and  heard  clipping  bad  Spanish, 
after  listening  to  the  speech  of  a  patriotic  cobbler  of  Cadiz,  on  the 
event  of  his  own  entry  into  that  city,  and  the  exit  of  some  five 
thousand  bold  Britons  out  of  this  'best  of  all  possible  worlds.' 
Sorely  were  we  puzzled  how  to  dispose  of  that  same  victory  of 
Talavera;  and  a  victory  it  surely  was  somewhere,  for  everybody 
claimed  it.  The  Spanish  despatch  and  mob  called  it  Cuesta's, 
and  made  no  great  mention  of  the  viscount ;  the  French  called  it 
theirs,  (to  my  great  discomfiture, — for  a  French  consul  stopped 
my  mouth  in  Greece  with  a  pestilent  Paris  gazette,  just  as  I  had 
killed  Sebastiani  'in  buckram,'  and  King  Joseph  'in  Kendal 
green,') — and  we  have  not  yet  determined  what  to  call  it,  or 
whose ;  for,  certes,  it  was  none  of  our  own.  Howbeit,  Massena's 
retreat  is  a  great  comfort ;  and  as  we  have  not  been  in  the  habit 
of  pursuing  for  some  years  past,  no  wonder  we  are  a  little  awkward 
at  first.  No  doubt  we  shall  improve ;  or,  if  not,  we  have  only  to 
take  to  our  old  way  of  retrograding,  and  there  we  are  at 
home."] 

1  [There  let  them  rot — while  rhymers  tell  the  fools 

How  honour  decks  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ! 

Liars,  avaunt !" — MS.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE. 


39 


By  myriads,  when  they  dare  to  pave  their  way 
With  human  hearts — to  what? — a  dream  alone. 
Can  despots  compass  aught  that  hails  their  sway  ? 
Or  call  with  truth  one  span  of  earth  their  own, 
Save  that  wherein  at  last   they  crumble  bone  by 

bone. 
•••• 

XLIII. 

Oh,  Albuera,  glorious  field  of  grief! 

As  o'er  thy  plain  the  Pilgrim  prick'd  his  steed, 

Who  could  foresee  thee,  in  a  space  so  brief, 

A  scene  where  mingling  foes  should  boast  and 

bleed. 

Peace  to  the  perish'd !  may  the  warrior's  meed 
And  tears  of  triumph  their  reward  prolong ! 
Till  others  fall  where  other  chieftains  lead, 
Thy  name  shall  circle  round  the  gaping  throng, 
And  shine  in  worthless  lays,  the  theme  of  transient 

song.1 

XLIV. 

Enough  of  Battle's  minions  !  let  them  play 
Their  game  of  lives,  and  barter  breath  for  fame  : 
Fame  that  will  scarce  reanimate  their  clay, 
Though  thousands  fall  to  deck  some  single  name. 
In  sooth  'twere  sad  to  thwart  their  noble  aim, 
Who  strike,  blest  hirelings!    for  then*  country's 

good, 

And  die,  that  living  might  have  proved  her  shame ; 
Perish'd,  perchance,  in  some  domestic  feud, 
Or  in  a  narrower  sphere  wild  Rapine's  path  pursued. 

1  [This  stanza  is  not  in  the  original  MS.  It  was  written  at 
Newstead,  in  August,  1811,  shortly  after  the  battle  of  Albuera, 
which  took  place  on  the  ICth  of  May.] 


40  C  HI  LDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

XLV. 

Full  swiftly  Harold  wends  his  lonely  way 
Where  proud  Sevilla1  triumphs  unsubdued  : 
Yet  is  she  free — the  spoiler's  wish'd-for  prey  ! 
Soon,  soon  shall  Conquest's  fiery  foot  intrude, 
Blackening  her  lovely  domes  with  traces  rude. 
Inevitable  hour  !  'Gainst  fate  to  strive 
Where  desolation  plants  her  famish'd  brood 
Is  vain,  or  Ilion,  Tyre  might  yet  survive, 
And  Virtue  vanquish  all,  and  murder  cease  to  thrive. 

XLVI. 

But  all  unconscious  of  the  coming  doom, 

The  feast,  the  song,  the  revel  here  abounds ; 

Strange  modes  of  merriment  the  hours  consume, 

Nor  bleed  these  patriots  with  their  country's  wounds; 

Nor  here  War's  clarion,  but  Love's  rebeck2  sounds; 

Here  Folly  still  his  votaries  inthralls; 

And  young-eyed  Lewdness  walks  her  midnight 

rounds : 

Girt  with  the  silent  crimes  of  capitals, 
Still  to  the  last  kind  vice  clings  to  the  tottering  walls. 

1  ["  At  Seville,  we  lodged  in  the  house  of  two  Spanish  un- 
married ladies,  women  of  character,  the  eldest  a  fine  woman,  the 
youngest  pretty.  The  freedom  of  manner,  which  is  general  here, 
astonished  me  not  a  little ;  and,  in  the  course  of  further  observ- 
ation, I  find  that  reserve  is  not  the  characteristic  of  Spanish 
belles.  The  eldest  honoured  your  unworthy  son  with  very  par- 
ticular attention,  embracing  him  with  great  tenderness  at  parting, 
(I  was  there  but  three  days,)  after  cutting  off  a  look  of  his  hair, 
and  presenting  him  with  one  of  her  own,  about  three  feet  in  length, 
which  I  send,  and  beg  you  will  retain  till  my  return.  Her  last 
words  were,  '  Adios,  tu  hermoso !  me  gusto  mucho.'  '  Adieu,  you 
pretty  fellow !  you  please  me  much.'  " — Lord  B.  to  his  Mother, 
Aug.  1809.] 

•  [A  kind  of  fiddle,  with,  only  two  strings,  played  on  by  a  bow, 
said  to  have  been  brought  by  the  Moors  into  Spain.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  41 

XLVII. 

Not  so  the  rustic — with  his  trembling  mate 
He  lurks,  nor  casts  his  heavy  eye  afar, 
Lest  he  should  view  his  vineyard  desolate, 
Blasted  below  the  dun  hot  breath  of  war. 
No  more  beneath  soft  Eve's  consenting  star 
'Fandango  twirls  his  jocund  Castanet: 
v    Ah,  monarchs  !  could  ye  taste  the  mirth  ye  mar, 

Not  in  the  toils  of  Glory  would  ye  fret; 
•;  The  hoarse  dull  drum  would  sleep,  and  Man  be  happy 
yet! 


XLVIII. 

How  carols  now  the  lusty  muleteer  ? 
Of  love,  romance,  devotion  is  his  lay, 
As  whilome  he  was  wont  the  leagues  to  cheer, 
His  quick  bells  wildly  jingling  on  the  way? 
No  !  as  he  speeds,  he  chants  "  Viva  el  Rey  J"1 
And  checks  his  song  to  execrate  Godby, ' 
The  royal  wittol  Charles,  and  curse  the  day 
When  first  Spain's  queen  beheld  the  black-eyed  boy, 
And  gore-faced  treason  sprung  from  her  adulterate 
joy. 


1  "  Viva  el  Rey  Fernando  !"  Long  live  King  Ferdinand  !  is 
the  chorus  of  most  of  the  Spanish  patriotic  songs.  They  are 
chiefly  in  dispraise  of  the  old  king  Charles,  the  queen,  and  the 
Prince  of  Peace.  I  have  heard  many  of  them :  some  of  the  airs 
are  beautiful.  Don  Manuel  Godoy,  the  Principe  de  la  Paz,  of  an 
ancient  but  decayed  family,  wasi)orn  at  Badajoz,  on  the  frontiers 
of  Portugal,  and  was  originally  in  the  ranks  of  the  Spanish 
guards;  till  his  person  attracted  the  queen's  eyes,  and  raised  him 
to  the  dukedom  of  Alcudia,  &c.  &c.  It  is  to  this  man  that  the 
Spaniards  universally  impute  the  ruin  of  their  country. — [See, 
for  ample  particulars  concerning  the  flagitious  court  of  Charles 
IV.,  Southey's  History  of  the  Peninsular  War,  vol.  i.] 
4* 


42  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

XLIX. 

On  yon  long,  level  plain,  at  distance  crown'd 
With  crags,  whereon  those  Moorish  turrets  rest, 
Wide  scatter'd  hoof-marks  dint  the  wounded  ground , 
And,  scathed  by  fire,  the  greens  ward's  darken'd  vest. 
Tells  that  the  foe  was  Andalusia's  guest : 
Here  was  the  camp,  the  watch-flame,  and  the  host, 
Here  the  bold  peasant  storm'd  the  dragon's  nest ; 
Still  does  he  mark  it  with  triumphant  boast, 
And  points  to  yonder  cliff's,  which  oft  were  won  and  lost. 

L. 

And  whomsoe'er  along  the  path  you  meet 
Bears  in  his  cap  the  badge  of  crimson  hue, 
Which  tells  you  whom  to  shun  and  whom  to  greet  :* 
Woe  to  the  man  that  walks  in  public  view, 
Without  of  loyalty  this  token  true  : 
Sharp  is  the  knife,  and  sudden  is  the  stroke  ; 
And  sorely  would  the  Gallic  foeman  rue, 
If  subtle  poniards,  wrap'd  beneath  the  cloak, 
Could  blunt  the  sabre's  edge,  or  clear  the  cannon's 
smoke. 

LI. 

At  every  turn  Morena's  dusky  height 
Sustains  aloft  the  battery's  iron  load ; 
And,  far  as  mortal  eye  can  compass  sight, 
The  mountain-howitzer,  the  broken  road, 
The  bristling  palisade,  the  fosse  o'erflow'd, 
The  stationed  bands,  the  never-vacant  watch, 
The  magazine  in  rocky  durance  stow'd, 
The  holster'd  steed  beneath  the  shed  of  thatch, 
The  bail-piled  pyramid,2  the  ever  blazing  match, 

1  The  red  cockade,  with  "  Fernando  Septimo,"  in  the  centre. 

8  All  who  have  seen  a  battery  will  recollect  the  pyramidal 

form  in  which  shot  and  shells  are  piled.    The  Sierra  Morena  was 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  43 

Lll. 

Portend  the  deeds  to  come  : — but  he  whose  nod 
Has  tumbled  feebler  despots  from  their  sway, 
A  moment  pauseth  ere  he  lifts  the  rod ; 
A  little  moment  deigneth  to  delay  : 
Soon  will  his  legions  sweep  through  these  their  way ; 
The  West  must  own  the  scourger  of  the  world. 
Ah  !  Spain  !  how  sad  will  be  thy  reckoning-day 
When  soars  Gaul's  vulture,  withhis  wings  unfurl'd, 
And  thoushalt  view  thy  sons  in  crowds  to  Hades  hurl'd. 

LIU. 

And  must  they  fall?  the  young, the  proud,  the  brave, 
To  swell  one  bloated  chiefs  unwholesome  reign  ? 
No  step  between  submission  and  a  grave  ? 
The  rise  of  rapine  and  the  fall  of  Spain  ? 
And  doth  the  power  that  man  adores  ordain 
Their-doom,  nor  heed  the  suppliant's  appeal  ? 
Is  all  that  desperate  Valour  acts  in  vain  ? 
And  Counsel  sage,  and  patriotic  Zeal,       [of steel? 
The  Veteran's  skill,  Youth's  fire,  and  Manhood's  heart 

LIV. 

Is  it  for  this  the  Spanish  maid,  aroused, 
Hangs  on  the  willow  her  unstrung  guitar, 
And,  all  unsex'd,  the  anlace  hath  espoused, 
Sung  the  loud  song,  and  dared  the  deed  of  war  ? 
And  she,  whom  once  the  semblance  of  a  scar 
Appall'd,  an  owlet's  larum  chill'd  with  dread, 
Now  views  the  column-scattering  bayonet  j?r, 
The  falchion  flash,  and  o'er  the  yet  warm  dead 
Stalks  with  Minerva's  step  where  Mars  might  quake 
to  tread. 

fortified  in  every  defile  through  which  I  passed  in  my  way  to 
Seville. 


44  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

LV. 

Ye  who  shall  marvel  when  you  hear  her  tale, 
Oh  !  had  you  known  her  in  her  softer  hour, 
Mark'd  her  black  eye  that  mocks  her  coal-black  veil, 
Heard  her  light,  lively  tones  in  lady's  bower, 
Seen  her  long  locks  that  foil  the  painter's  power, 
Her  fairy  form,  with  more  than  female  grace, 
Scarce  would  you  deem  that  Saragoza's  tower 
Beheld  her  smile  in  Danger's  Gorgon  face, 
Thin  the  closed  ranks,  and  lead  in  Glory's  fearful  chase. 


LVI. 

Her  lover  sinks — she  sheds  no  ill-timed  tear  ; 
Her  chief  is  slain — she  fills  his  fatal  post ; 
Her  fellows  flee — she  checks  their  base  career ; 
The  foe  retires — she  heads  the  sallying  host : 
Who  can  appease  like  her  a  lover's  ghost  ? 
Who  can  avenge  so  well  a  leader's  fall  ? 
What  maid  retrieve  when  man's  flush 'd  hope  is  lost? 
Who  hang  so  fiercely  on  the  flying  Gaul, 
Foil'd  by  a  woman's  hand,  before  a  batter'd  wall  ?* 

1  Such  were  the  exploits  of  the  maid  of  Saragoza,  who  by  her 
valour  elevated  herself  to  the  highest  rank  of  heroines.  When 
the  author  was  at  Seville,  she  walked  daily  on  the  Prado,  deco- 
rated with  medals  and  orders,  by  command  of  the  Junta. — [The 
exploits  of  Augustina,  the  famous  heroine  of  both  the  sieges  of 
Sarao-oza,  are  recorded  at  length  in  one  of  the  most  splendid 
chapters  of  Southey's  History  of  the  Peninsular  War.  At  the 
time  when  she  first  attracted  notice,  by  mounting  a  battery  where 
her  lover  had  fallen,  and  working  a  gun  in  his  room,  she  was  in 
her  twenty-second  year,  exceedingly  pretty ;  and  in  a  soft  feminine 
style  of  beauty.  She  has  further  had  the  honour  to  be  painted  by 
Wilkie,  and  alluded  to  in  Wordsworth's  Dissertation  on  the  Con- 
vention (misnamed)  of  Cintra;  where  a  noble  passage  concludes 
in  these  words  : — "  Saragoza  has  exemplified  a  melancholy,  yea 
a  dis.nal  trutii. — yet  consolatory  and  full  of  joy, — that  when  a 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  45 

LVII. 

Yet  are  Spain's  maids  no  race  of  Amazons, 
But  form'd  for  all  the  witching  arts  of  love : 
Though  thus  in  arms  they  emulate  her  sons, 
And  in  the  horrid  phalanx  dare  to  move, 
'Tis  but  the  tender  fierceness  of  the  dove, 
Pecking  the  hand  that  hovers  o'er  her  mate : 
In  softness  as  in  firmness  far  above 
Remoter  females,  famed  for  sickening  prate  ; 
Her  mind  is  nobler  sure,  her  charms  perchance  as 
great. 


LVIII. 

The  seal  Love's  dimpling  finger  hath  impressed 
Denotes  how  soft  that  chin  which  bears  his  touch  :* 
Her  lips,  whose  kisses  pout  to  leave  their  nest, 
Bid  man  be  valiant  ere  he  merit  such  : 
Her  glance  how  wildly  beautiful !  how  much 
Hath  Phoebus  woo'd  in  vain  to  spoil  her  cheek, 
Which  glows   yet  smoother    from  his  amorous 

clutch! 
Who  round  the   North  for  paler  dames  would 

seek? 
How  poor  their  forms  appear !  how  languid,  wan,  and 

weak ! 


people  are  called  suddenly  to  fight  for  their  liberty,  and  are  sorely 
pressed  upon,  their  best  field  of  battle  is  the  floors  upon  which 
their  children  have  played  ;  the  chambers  where  the  family  ot 
each  man  has  slept;  upon  or  under  the  roofs  by  which  they  have 
been  sheltered ;  in  the  gardens  of  their  recreation ;  in  the  street, 
or  in  the  market-place ;  before  the  altars  of  their  temples,  and 
among  their  congregated  dwellings,  blazing  or  uprooted."] 

1  "  Sigilla  in  mento  impressa  Amoris  digitulo 

Vestigio  demonstrant  mollitudinem." — AOL.  GEL. 


46  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 


Match  me,  ye  climes  !  which  poets  love  to  laud ; 
Match  me,  ye  harems  of  the  land  !  where  now1 
I  strike  my  strain,  far  distant,  to  applaud 
Beauties  that  even  a  cynic  must  avow  f 
Match  me  those  Houries,  whom  ye  scarce  allow 
To  taste  the  gale,  lest  Love  should  ride  the  wind, 
With  Spain's  dark-glancing  daughters3 — deign  to 

know, 

There  your  wise  Prophet's  paradise  we  find, 
His  black-eyed  maids  of  heaven,  angelically  kind. 


LK. 


Co 


Oh,  thou  Parnassus  !4  whom  I  now  survey, 
Not  in  the  frenzy  of  a  dreamer's  eye, 
Not  in  the  fabled  landscape  of  a  lay, 
But  soaring  snow-clad  through  thy  native  sky, 
In  the  wild  pomp  of  mountain-majesty  ! 
What  marvel  if  I  thus  essay  to  sing  ? 
The  humblest  of  thy  pilgrims  passing  by 
Would  gladly  woo  thine  Echoes  with  his  string, 
Though  from  thy  heights  no  more  one  Muse  will 
wave  her  wing. 


1  This  stanza  was  written  in  Turkey. 

a  ["  Beauties  that  need  not  fear  a  broken  vow." — MS.] 

3  ["  Long  black  hair,  dark  languishing  eyes,  clear  olive  com- 
plexions, and  forms  more  graceful  in  motion  than  can  be  con- 
ceived by  an  Englishman,  used  to  the  drowsy,  listless  air  of  his 
countrywomen,  added  to  the  most  becoming  dress,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  the  most  decent  in  the  world,  render  a  Spanish  beauty 
irresistible." — Lord  Byron  to  his  Mother,  Aug.  1809.] 

4  These  stanzas  were  written  in  Castri,  (Delphos,)  at  the  foot 
of  Parnassus,  now  called  \iaxvpa,  (Liakura,)  Dec.  1809. 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  47 

LXI. 

Oft  have  I  dream'd  of  Thee  !  whose  glorious  name 
Who  knows  not,  knows  not  man's  divinest  lore : 
And  now  I  view  thee,  'tis,  alas  !  with  shame 
That  I  in  feeblest  accents  must  adore. 
When  I  recount  thy  worshippers  of  yore, 
I  tremble  and  can  only  bend  the  knee ; 
Nor  raise  my  voice,  nor  vainly  dare  to  soar, 
But  gaze  beneath  thy  cloudy  canopy 
In  silent  joy  to  think  at  last  I  look  on  thee  I1 

LXII. 

Happier  in  this  than  mightiest  bards  have  been, 
Whose  fate  to  distant  homes  confined  their  lot, 
Shall  I  unmoved  behold  the  hallow'd  scene, 
Which  others  rave  of,  though  they  know  it  not? 
Though  here  no  more  Apollo  haunts  his  grot, 
And  thou,  the  Muses'  seat,  art  now  their  grave,3 
Some  gentle  spirit  still  pervades  the  spot, 
Sighs  in  the  gale,  keeps  silence  in  the  cave, 
And  glides  with  glassy  foot  o'er  yon  melodious  wave. 

1  ["  Upon  Parnassus,  going  to  the  fountain  of  Delphi,  (Castri,) 
in  1809, 1  saw  a  flight  of  twelve  eagles,  (Hohhouse  says  they 
were  vultures— at  least  in  conversation,)  and  I  seized  the  omen. 
On  the  day  before,  I  composed  the  lines  to  Parnassus,  (in  Childe 
Harold,)  and  on  beholding  the  birds,  had  a  hope  that  Apollo  had 
accepted  my  homage.  I  have  at  least  had  the  name  and  fame  of 
a  poet,  during  the  poetical  period  of  life;  (from  twenty  to  thirty;) 
whether  it  will  last  is  another  matter :  but  I  have  been  a  votary 
of  the  deity  and  the  place,  and  am  grateful  for  what  he  has  done 
in  my  behalf,  leaving  the  future  in  his  hands,  as  I  left  the  past."— 
B.  Diary,  1821.] 

8  ["  Casting  the  eye  over  the  site  of  ancient  Delphi,  one  can- 
not possibly  imagine  what  has  become  of  the  walls  of  the  nume 
rous  buildings  which  are  mentioned  in  the  history  of  its  former 
magnificence, — buildings  which  covered  two  miles  of  ground. 
With  the  exception  of  the  few  terraces  or  supporting  walls,  no- 
thing now  appears.  The  various  robberies  of  Scylla,  Nero,  and 
Constantine,  are  inconsiderable;  for  the  removal  of  the  statues 


48  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

LXIII. 

Of  thee  hereafter. — Even  amidst  my  strain 
I  timi'd  aside  to  pay  my  homage  here; 
Forgot  the  land,,  the  sons,  the  maids  of  Spain; 
Her  fate,  to  every  freeborn  bosom  dear ; 
And  hail'd  thee,  not  perchance  without  a  tear. 
Now  to  my  theme — but  from  thy  holy  haunt 
Let  me  some  remnant,  some  memorial  bear ; 
Yield  me  one  leaf  of  Daphne's  deathless  plant,1 
Nor  let  thy  votary's  hope  be  deem'd  an  idle  vaunt. 

LXIV. 
But  ne'er  didst  thou,  fair  mount!  when  Greece  was 

young, 

See  round  thy  giant  base  a  brighter  choir, 
Nor  e'er  did  Delphi,  when  her  priestess  sung 
The  Pythian  hymn  with  more  than  mortal  fire, 
Behold  a  train  more  fitting  to  inspire 
The  song  of  love  than  Andalusia's  maids, 
Nursed  in  the  glowing  lap  of  soft  desire  : 
Ah !  that  to  these  were  given  such  peaceful  shades 
As  Greece  can  still  bestow,  though  Glory  fly  her  glades. 

of  bronze,  and  marble,  and  ivory,  could  not  greatly  affect  the 
general  appearance  of  the  city.  The  acclivity  of  the  hill,  and 
the  foundations  being  placed  on  rock,  without  cement,  would  no 
doubt  render  them  comparatively  easy  to  be  removed  or  hurled 
down  into  the  vale  below  ;  but  the  vale  exhibits  no  appearance  of 
accumulation  of  hewn  stones  ;  and  the  modern  village  could  have 
consumed  but  few.  In  the  course  of  so  many  centuries,  the  debris 
from  the  mountain  must  have  covered  up  a  great  deal,  and  even 
the  rubbish  itself  may  have  acquired  a  soil  sufficient  to  conceal 
many  noble  remains  from  the  light  of  day.  Yet  we  see  no  swell- 
ings or  risings  in  the  ground,  indicating  the  graves  of  the  temples. 
All  therefore  is  mystery,  and  the  Greeks  may  truly  say,  '  Where 
stood  the  walls  of  our  fathers  1'  scarce  their  mossy  tombs  remain !" 
H.  W.  Wilhams's  Travels  in  Greece,  vol.  ii.  p.  254.] 

1  [""  Some  ijiorious  thought  to  my  petition  grant." — MS.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  49 

j.xv. 

Fair  is  proud  Seville ;  let  her  country  boast 
Her  strength,  her  wealth,  her  site  of  ancient  days  j1 
But  Cadiz,  rising  on  the  distant  coast, 
Calls  forth  a  sweeter  though  ignoble  praise. 
\J    Ah,  Vice !  how  soft  are  thy  voluptuous  ways  ! 
While  boyish  blood  is  mantling,  who  can  'scape 
The  fascination  of  thy  magic  gaze  ?3 
A  Che/ub-hydra  round  us  dost  thou  gape, 
And  mould  to  every  taste  thy  dear  delusive  shape. 

;  LXVI. 

When  Paphos  fell  by  time — accursed  time  ! 
The  queen  who  conquers  all  must  yield  to  thee — 
The  Pleasures  fled,  but  sought  as  warm  a  clime ; 
And  Venus,  constant  to  her  native  sea, 
To  naught  else  constant,  hither  deign'd  to  flee ; 
And  fix'd  her  shrine  within  these  walls  of  white  : 
Though  not  to  one  dome  circumscribeth  she 
Her  worship,  buf,  devoted  to  her  rite, 
A  thousand  altars  rise,  forever  blazing  bright3 

LXVII. 

From  morn  till  night,  from  night  till  startled  morn 
Peeps  blushing  on  the  revel's  laughing  crew, 
The  song  is  heard,  the  rosy  garland  worn  ; 
Devices  quaint,  and  frolics  ever  new, 


1  Seville  was  the  Hispalis  of  the  Romans. 
3  ["  The  lurking  lures  of  thy  enchanting  gaze." — MS.] 
8  ["  Cadiz,  sweet  Cadiz  ! — it  is  the  first  spot  in  the  creation. 
The  beauty  of  its  streets  and  mansions  is  only  excelled  by  the 
liveliness  of  its  inhabitants.     It  is  a  complete  Cythera,  full  of  the 
finest  women  in  Spain ;  the  Cadiz  belles  being  the  Lancashire 
witches  of  their  land." — Lord  77.  to  his  Mvther,  1809.] 

5 


50  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

Tread  on  each  other's  kibes.     A  long  adieu 
He  bids  to  sober  joy  that  here  sojourns : 
Naught  interrupts  the  riot,  though  in  lien 
Of  true  devotion  monkish  incense  burns, 
And  love  and  prayer  unite,  or  rule  the  hour  by  turns.1 

- 

LXVIII. 

The  Sabbath  comes,  a  day  of  blessed  rest : 
What  hallows  it  upon  this  Christian  shore  ? 
Lo  !  it  is  sacred  to  a  solemn  feast : 
Hark !  heard  you  not  the  forest-monarch's  roar  ? 
Crashing  the  lance,  he  snuffs  the  spouting  gore 
Of  man  and  steed,  o'erthrown  beneath  his  horn; 
The  throng'd  arena  shakes  with  shouts  for  more  j 
Yells  the  mad  crowd  o'er  entrails  freshly  torn, 
Nor  shrinks  the  female  eye,  nor  even  affects  to  mourn. 

LXIX. 

The  seventh  day  this;  the  jubilee  of  man. 
London !  right  well  thou  know'st  the  day  of  prayer; 
Then  thy  spruce  citizen,  washed  artisan, 
And  smug  apprentice  gulp  their  weekly  air: 
Thy  coach  of  hackney,  whiskey,  one-horse  chair, 
And  humblest  gig  through  sundry  suburbs  whirl: 
To  Hampstead,  Brentford,  Harrow  make  repair; 
Till  the  tired  jade  the  wheel  forgets  to  hurl, 
Provoking  envious  gibe  from  each  pedestrian  churl. 

LXX. 

Some  o'er  thy  Thamis  row  the  ribbon'd  fair, 
.  Others  along  the  safer  turnpike  fly ; 

Some  Richmond-hill  ascend,  some  scud  to  Ware, 
And  many  to  the  steep  of  Highgate  hie. 

1  ["  — Monkish  temples  share 
The  hours  misspent,  and  all  in  turns  is  love  and  prayer." — MS. 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  51 

Ask  ye,  Boeotian  shades  !  the  reason  why  ?T 
'Tis  to  the  worship  of  the  solemn  horn, 
Grasp'd  in  the  holy  hand  of  mystery, 
In  whose  dread  name  both  men  and  maids  are  sworn, 
And  consecrate  the  oath2  with  draught,  and  dance 
till  morn.3 

LXXI. 

All  have  their  fooleries — not  alike  are  thine, 
Fair  Cadiz,  rising  o'er  the  dark-blue  sea  ! 
Soon  as  the  matin  bell  proclaimeth  nine, 
Thy  saint  adorers  count  the  rosary  : 
Much  is  the  VIRGIN  teased  to  shrive  them  free 
(Well  do  I  ween  the  only  virgin  there) 
From  crimes  as  numerous  as  her  beadsmen  be  ; 
Then  to  the  crowded  circus  forth  they  fare :   [share. 
Young,  old,  high,  low,  at  once  the  same  diversion 

1  This  was  written  at  Thebes,  and  consequently  in  the  best 
situation  for  asking  and  answering  such  a  question ;  not  as  the 
birthplace  of  Pindar,  but  as  the  capital  of  Bceotia,  where  the  first 
riddle  was  compounded  and  solved. 

a  [Lord  Byron  alludes  to  a  ridiculous  custom  which  formerly 
prevailed  at  the  public-houses  in  Highgate,  of  administering  a 
burlesque  oath  to  all  travellers  of  the  middling  rank  who  stopped 
there.  The  party  was  sworn  on  a  pair  of  horns,  fastened,  "  never 
to  kiss  the  maid  when  he  could  kiss  the  mistress ;  never  to  eat 
brown  bread  when  he  could  get  white ;  never  to  drink  small  beer 
when  he  could  get  strong ;"  with  many  other  injunctions  of  the 
like  kind, — to  all  which  was  added  the  saving  clause, — "unless 
you  like  it  best."] 

8  [In  thus  mixing  up  the  light  with  the  solemn,  it  was  the 
intention  of  the  poet  to  imitate  Ariosto.  But  it  is  far  easier  to 
rise,  with  grace,  from  the  level  of  a  strain  generally  familiar,  into 
an  occasional  short  burst  of  pathos  or  splendour,  than  to  interrupt 
thus  a  prolonged  tone  of  solemnity  by  any  descent  into  the  lu- 
dicrous or  burlesque.  In  the  former  case,  the  transition  may  have 
the  effect  of  softening  or  elevating;  while,  in  the  latter,  it  almost 
invariably  shocks ; — for  the  same  reason,  perhaps,  that  a  trait  of 
pathos  or  high  feeling,  in  comedy,  has  a  peculiar  charm  ;  while 
the  intrusion  of  comic  scenes  into  tragedy,  however  sanctioned 


5J  CIIILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

LXXII. 

The  lists  are  oped,  the  spacious  area  clear'd, 
Thousands  on  thousands  piled  are  seated  round ; 
Long  ere  the  first  loud  trumpet's  note  is  heard, 
Ne  vacant  space  for  lated  wight  is  found : 
Here  dons,  grandees,  but  chiefly  dames  abound, 
Skill'd  in  the  ogle  of  a  roguish  eye, 
Yet  ever  well  inclined  to  heal  the  wound  ; 
None  through  their  cold  disdain  are  doom'd  to  die, 
As  moon-struck  bards  complain,  by  Love's  sad  archery. 

LXXIII. 

Hush'd  is  the  din  of  tongues — on  gallant  steeds, 
With  milk-white  crest,  gold  spur,  and  light-poised 

lance,         fc 

Four  cavaliers  prepare  for  venturous  deeds, 
And  lowly  bending  to  the  lists  advance ; 
Rich  are  their  scarfs,  their  chargers  featly  prance : 
If  in  the  dangerous  game  they  shine  to-day, 
The  crowd's  loud  shout  and  ladies'  lovely  glance, 
Best  prize  of  better  acts,  they  bear  away, 
And  all  that  kings  or  chiefs  e'er  gain  their  toils  repay. 

LXXIV. 

In  costly  sheen  and  gaudy  cloak  array'd, 
But  all  afoot,  the  light-limb'd  Matadore 
Stands  in  the  centre,  eager  to  invade 
The  lord  of  lowing  herds ;  but  not  before 
The  ground,  with  cautious  tread,  is  traversed  o'er, 
Lest  aught  unseen  should  lurk  to  thwart  his  speed: 
His  arms  a  dart,  he  fights  aloof,  nor  more 
Can  man  achieve  without  his  friendly  steed — 
Alas !  too  oft  condemn'd  for  him  to  bear  and  bleed. 

among  us  by  habit  and  authority,  rarely  fails  to  offend.  The  poet 
was  himself  convinced  of  the  failure  of  the  experiment,  and  in  none 
of  the  succeeding  cantos  of  Childe  Harold  repeated  it. — MOORE.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  53 

7  5        LXXV. 

Thrice  sounds  the  clarion  ;  lo  !  the  signal  falls, 
The  den  expands,  and  Expectation  mute 
Gapes  round  the  silent  circle's  peopled  walls. 
Bounds  with  one  lashing  spring  the  mighty  brute, 
And,  wildly  staring,  spurns,  with  sounding  foot, 
The  sand,  nor  blindly  rushes  on  his  foe  : 
Here,  there,  he  points  his  threatening  front,  to  suit 
His  first  attack,  wide  waving  to  and  fro 
His  angry  tail ;  red  rolls  his  eye's  dilated  glow. 

LXXVI. 

Sudden  he  stops ;  his  eye  is  fix'd :  away, 
Away,  thou  heedless  boy !  prepare  the  spear : 
Now  is  thy  time,  to  perish,  or  display 
The  skill  that  yet  may  check  his  mad  career. 
With  well-timed  croupe1  the  nimble  coursers  veer  ; 
On  foams  the  bull,  but  not  unscathed  he  goes ; 
Streams  from  his  flank  the  crimson  torrent  clear  : 
He  flies,  he  wheels,  distracted  with  his  throes ; 
Dart  follows  dart ;  lance,  lance ;  loud  bello  wings  speak 
his  woes. 

*r*         7  7    Lxxvn. 

Again  he  comes  ;  nor  dart  nor  lance  avail, 
Nor  the  wild  plunging  of  the  tortured  horse ; 
Though  man  and  man's  avenging  arms  assail, 
Vain  are  his  weapons,  vainer  in  his  force. 
One  gallant  steed  is  stretch'd  a  mangled  corse  : 
Another  hideous  sight !  unseam'd  appears, 
His  gory  chest  unveils  life's  panting  source  ; 
Though  death-struck,  still  his  feeble  frame  he  rears ; 
Staggering,  but  stemming  all,  his  lord  unharm'd  he 
bears. 

1  ["The  croupe  is  a  particular  leap  taught  in  the  manege."— 
MS.] 


54  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

LXXVIII. 

Foil'd,  bleeding,  breathless,  furious  to  the  last, 

Full  in  the  centre  stands  the  bull  at  bay, 

Mid  wounds,  and  clinging  dart,  and  lances  brast, 

And  foes  disabled  in  the  brutal  fray  : 

And  now  the  matadores  around  him  play, 

Shake  the  red  cloak,  and  poise  the  ready  brand : 

Once  more  through  all  he  bursts  his  thundering 

way — 

Vain  rage  !  the  mantle  quits  the  conynge  hand, 
Wraps  his  fiercs  eye — 'tis  past — he  sinks  upon  the 
sand!1  -?  A 

LXXIX. 

Where  his  vast  neck  just  mingles  with  the  spine, 
Sheathed  in  his  form  the  deadly  weapon  lies. 
He  stops — he  starts — disdaining  to  decline  : 
Slowly  he  falls,  amidst  triumphant  cries, 
Without  a  groan,  without  a  struggle  dies. 
The  decorated  car  appears — on  high 
The  corse  is  piled — sweet  sight  for  vulgar  eyes — 2 
Four  steeds  that  spurn  the  rein,  as  swift  as  shy, 
Hurl  the  dark  bulk  along,  scarce  seen  in  dashing  by. 

1  [The  reader  will  do  well  to  compare  Lord  Byron's  animated 
picture  of  the  popular  "  sport"  of  the  Spanish  nation,  with  the 
very  circumstantial  details  contained  in  the  charming  "  Letters  of 
Don  Leucadio  Doblado,"  (i.  e.  the  Rev.  Blanco  White,)  published 
in  1822.  So  inveterate  was,  at  one  time,  the  rage  of  the  people  for 
this  amusement,  that  even  boys  mimicked  its  features  in  theh 
play.  In  the  slaughter-house  itself  the  professional  bull-fighter 
gave  public  lessons;  and  such  was  the  force  of  depraved  custom, 
that  ladies  of  the  highest  rank  were  not  ashamed  to  appear  amidst 
the  filth  and  horror  of  the  shambles.  The  Spaniards  received  this 
sport  from  the  Moors,  among  whom  it  was  celebrated  with  great 
pomp  and  splendour.  See  various  Notes  to  Mr.  Lockhart's  Col- 
lection  of  Ancient  Spanish  Ballads,  1822.] 

fl  ["  The  trophy  corse  is  reared— disgusting  prize — 
Or,  "The  corse  is  reared — sparkling  the  chariot  flies." — MS.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  55 

LXXX. 

Such  the  ungentle  sport  that  oft  invites 
The  Spanish  maid,  and  cheers  the  Spanish  swain, 
Nurtured  in  blood  betimes,  his  heart  delights 
In  vengeance,  gloating  on  another's  pain. 
•  What  private  feuds  the  troubled  village  stain  ! 
Though  now  one  phalanx'd  host  should  meet  the  foe, 
Enough,  alas !  in  humbler  homes  remain, 
To  meditate  'gainst  friends  the  secret  blow, 
For  some  slight  cause  of  wrath,  whence  life's  warm 
stream  must  flow.1 

1  \  LXXXI. 

But  Jealousy  has  fled :  his  bars,  his  bolts, 
His  wither'd  sentinel,  Duenna  sage  ! 
And  all  whereat  the  generous  soul  revolts, 
Which  the  stern  dotard  deem'd  he  could  encage, 
Have  pass'd  to  darkness  with  the  vanish'd  age. 
Who  late  so  free  as  Spanish  girls  were  seen, 
(Ere  War  uprose  in  his  volcanic  rage,) 
With  braided  tresses  bounding  o'er  the  green, 
While  on  the  gay  dance  shone  Night's  lover-loving 
queen  ? 

LXXXII. 

Oh  !  many  a  time  and  oft,  had  Harold  loved, 
Or  dream'd  he  loved,  since  rapture  is  a  dream ; 
But  now  his  wayward  bosom  was  unmoved, 
For  not  yet  had  he  drunk  of  Lethe's  stream ; 

1  ["  The  Spaniards  are  as  revengeful  as  ever.  At  Santa  Otella 
I  heard  a  young  peasant  threaten  to  stab  a  woman,  (an  old  one, 
to  be  sure,  which  mitigates  the  offence,)  and  was  told,  on  express- 
ing some  small  surprise,  that  this  ethic  was  by  no  means  un- 
common."— MS.] 


5C  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

And  lately  had  he  learn'd  with  truth  to  deem 
Love  has  no  gift  so  grateful  as  his  wings: 
How  fair,  how  young,  how  soft  soe'er  he  seem, 
Full  from  the  fount  of  Joy's  delicious  springs1 
Some  bitter  o'er  the  flowers  its  bubbling  venom 
flings.2 


LXXXIII. 

Yet  to  the  beauteous  form  he  was  not  blind, 
Though  now  it  moved  him  as  it  moves  the  wise ; 
Not  that  Philosophy  on  such  a  mind 
E'er  deign'd  to  bend  her  chastely-awful  eyes : 
But  Passion  raves  itself  to  rest,  or  flies ; 
And  Vice,  that  digs  her  own  voluptuous  tomb, 
Had  buried  long  his  hopes,  no  more  to  rise : 
Pleasure's  pall'd  victim  !  life-abhorring  gloom 
Wrote  on  his  faded  brow   cursed  Cain's  unresting 
doom. 

LXXXIV. 

Still  he  beheld,  nor  mingled  with  the  throng ; 
But  view'd  them  not  with  misanthropic  hate : 
Fain  would  he  now  have  join'd  the  dance,  the  song ; 
l3ut  who  may  smile  that  sinks  beneath  his  fate  ? 
Naught  that  he  saw  his  sadness  could  abate  : 
Yet  once  he  struggled  'gainst  the  demon's  sway, 
And  as  in  Beauty's  bower  he  pensive  sate, 
Pour'd  forth  this  unpremeditated  lay, 
To  charms  as  fair  as  those  that  soothed  his  happier 
day. 

1  "  Medio  de  fonte  leporum 

Surgit  amari  aliquid  quod  in  ipsis  floribus  angat." — Luc. 
*  ["  Full  from  the  heart  of  Joy's  delicious  springs 

Some  bitter  bubbles  up,  and  e'en  on  roses  stings." — MS.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  57 

TO  INEZ. 

1. 

NAY,  smile  not  at  my  sullen  brow  ; 

Alas  !  I  cannot  smile  again  : 
Yet  Heaven  avert  that  ever  thou 

Shouldst  weep,  and  haply  weep  in  vain. 

2 
And  dost  thou  ask  what  secret  woe 

I  bear,  corroding  joy  and  youth  ? 
And  wilt  thou  vainly  seek  to  know 

A  pang,  even  thou  must  fail  to  soothe  ? 

^3. 
It  is  not  love,  it  is  not  hate, 

Nor  low  Ambition's  honours  lost, 
That  bids  me  loathe  my  present  state, 

And  fly  from  all  I  prized  the  most : 

4. 
It  is  that  weariness^ which  springs 

From  all  I  meet,  or  hear,  or  see : 
To  me  no  pleasure  Beauty  brings ; 

Thine  eyes  have  scarce  a  charm  for  mo. 

5. 
It  is  that  settled,  ceaseless  gLojam^ 

The  fabled  Hebrew  wanderer  I/ore ; 
That  will  not  look  beyond  the  tomb, 

But  cannot  hope  for  rest  before. 

6. 
What  exile  from  himself  can  flee  P1 

To  zones  though  more  and  more  remote, 

["  What  exile  from  nimself  can  flee  ? 
To  other  zones,  howe'er  remote, 
Still,  still  pursuing  clings  to  me 
The  bHght  of  life— the  demon  Thought."— MS  ] 


CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

Still,  still  pursues,  where'er  I  be, 

The  blight  of  life— the  demon  Thought.1 

7. 

Yet  others  rapt  in  pleasure  seem, 

And  taste  of  all  that  I  forsake  ; 
Oh  !  may  they  still  of  transport  dream, 

And  ne'er,  at  least  like  me,  awake  ! 

8. 

Through  many  a  clime  'tis  mine  to  go, 
With  many  a  retrospection  cursed ; 

And  all  my  solace  is  to  know, 

Whate'er  betides,  I've  known  the  worst. 

9. 

What  is  that  worst  ?     Nay,  do  not  ask — 

In  pity  from  the  search  forbear : 
Smile  on — nor  venture  to  unmask 

Man's  heart,  and  view  the  hell  that's  there." 

1  ["Written  January  25,  1810.''— MS.] 

3  [In  place  of  this  song,  which  was  written  at  Athens,  January 
25,  1810,  and  which  contains,  as  Moore  says,  "some  of  tho 
dreariest  touches_of_  gadness  that  ever  Byron's  pen  letlaTIT^we 
fin3,  in  the  first  draught  of  the  Canto,  the  following*:— 

1. 

Oh  never  talk  again  to  me 

Of  northern  climes  and  British  ladies ; 
It  has  not  been  your  lot  to  see, 

Like  me,  the  lovely  girl  of  Cadiz. 
Although  her  eye  be  not  of  blue, 

Nor  fair  her  locks,  like  English  lasses, 
How  far  its  own  expressive  hue 

The  languid  azure  eye  surpasses ! 

2. 
Prometheus-like,  from  heaven  she  stole 

The  fire,  that  through  those  silken  lashes 
In  darkest  glances  seems  to  roll, 

From  eyes  that  cannot  hide  their  flashes : 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  59 

LXXXV. 

Adieu,  fair  Cadiz  !  yea,  a  long  adieu  ! 

Who  may  forget  how  well  thy  walls  have  stood? 

When  all  were  changing  thou  alone  wert  true, 

First  to  be  free  and  last  to  be  subdued  : 

And  if  amidst  a  scene,  a  shock  so  rude, 

And  as  along  her  bosom  steal 

In  lengthen'd  flow  her  raven  tresses, 

You'd  swear  each  clustering  lock  could  feel, 
And  curl'd  to  give  her  neck  caresses. 

3. 

Our  English  maids  are  long  to  woo, 

And  frigid  even  in  possession ; 
And  if  their  charms  be  fair  to  view, 

Their  lips  are  slow  at  Love's  confession : 
But  born  beneath  a  brighter  sun, 

For  love  ordain'd  the  Spanish  maid  is, 
And  who, — when  fondly,  fairly  won, — 

Enchants  you  like  the  girl  of  Cadiz  1 

4. 

The  Spanish  maid  is  no  coquette, 

Nor  joys  to  see  a  lover  tremble ; 
And  if  she  love,  or  if  she  hate, 

Alike  she  knows  not  to  dissemble. 
Her  heart  can  ne'er  be  bought  or  sold — 

Howe'er  it  beats,  it  beats  sincerely; 
And,  though  it  will  not  bend  to  gold, 

'Twill  love  you  long  and  love  you  dearly. 

5. 

The  Spanish  girl  that  meets  your  love 

Ne'er  taunts  you  with  a  mock  denial, 
For  every  thought  is  bent  to  prove 

Her  passion  in  the  hour  of  trial. 
When  thronging  foemen  menace  Spain 

She  dares  the  deed  and  shares  the  danger ; 
And  should  her  lover  press  the  plain, 

She  hurls  the  spear,  her  love's  avenger. 


60  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

Some  native  blood  was  seen  thy  streets  to  dye ; 
A  traitor  only  fell  beneath  the  feud  :* 
Here  all  were  noble,  save  Nobility ; 
None  hugg'd  a  conqueror's  chain,  save  fallen  Chivalry ! 

LXXXVI. 

Such  be  the  sons  of  Spain,  and  strange  her  fate  ! 
They  fight  for  freedom  who  were  never  free  ; 

^A  kingless  people  for  a  nerveless  state, 
Her  vassals  combat  when  their  chieftains  flee, 
True  to  the  veriest  slaves  of  treachery  : 
Fond  of  a  land  which  gave  them  naught  but  life, 
Pride  points  the  path  that  leads  to  liberty  ; 
Back  to  the  struggle,  baffled  in  the  strife, 

War,  war  is  still  the  cry,  "War  even  to  the  knife!"3 

6. 

And  when,  beneath  the  evening  star, 

She  mingles  in  the  gay  bolero, 
Or  sings  to  her  attuned  guitar 

Of  Christian  knight  or  Moorish  hero, 
Or  counts  her  beads  with  fairy  hand 

Beneath  the  twinkling  rays  of  Hesper, 
Or  joins  devotion's  choral  band, 

To  chant  the  sweet  and  hallow'd  vesper  ;— 

7. 

In  each  her  charms  the  heart  must  move 

Of  all  who  venture  to  behold  her ; 
Then  let  not  maids  less  fair  reprove 
Because  her  bosom  is  not  colder : 
Through  many  a  clime  'tis  mine  to  roam, 

Where  many  a  soft  and  melting  maid  is, 
But  none  abroad  and  few  at  home, 

May  match  the  dark-eyed  girl  of  Cadiz. 
1  Alluding  to  the  conduct  and  death  of  Solano,  the  governor 
of  Cadiz,  in  May,  1809. 

a  u  \Var  to  the  knife."    Palafox's  answer  to  the  French  general 
at  the  siege  of  Saragoza.     [In  his  proclamations,  also,  he  stated, 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  61 

LXXXVII. 

Ye,  who  would  more  of  Spain  and  Spaniards  know, 
Go,  read  whate'er  is  writ  of  bloodiest  strife  : 
Whate'er  keen  vengeance  urged  on  foreign  foe 
Can  act,  is  acting  there  against  man's  life : 
From  flashing  scimitar  to  secret  knife, 
War  mouldeth  there  each  weapon  to  his  need — 
So  may  he  guard  the  sister  and  the  wife, 
So  may  he  make  each  cursed  oppressor  bleed — 
So  may  such  foes  deserve  the  most  remorseless  deed!1 

that,  should  the  French  commit  any  robberies,  devastations,  and 
murders,  no  quarter  should  be  given  them.  The  dogs  by  whom 
he  was  beset,  he  said,  scarcely  left  him  time  to  clean  his  sword 
from  their  blood,  but  they  still  found  their  grave  at  Saragoza. 
All  his  addresses  were  in  the  same  spirit.  "  His  language,"  says 
Mr.  Southey,  "  had  the  high  tone,  and  something  of  the  inflation 
of  Spanish  romance,  suiting  the  character  of  those  to  whom  it  was 
directed."  See  History  of  the  Peninsular  War,  vol.  iii.  p.  152.] 
1  The  Canto,  in  the  original  MS.,  closes  with  the  following 
stanzas : — 

Ye  who  would  more  of  Spain  and  Spaniards  know, 
Sights,  saints,  antiques,  arts,  anecdotes,  and  war, 
Go !  hie  ye  hence  to  Paternoster  Row — 
Are  they  not  written  in  the  Book  of  Carr,* 
Green  Erin's  knight  and  Europe's  wandering  star ! 
Then  listen,  readers,  to  the  Man  of  Ink, 
Hear  what  he  did,  and  sought,  and  wrote  afar; 
All  these  are  coop'd  within  one  quarto's  brink, 
This  borrow,  steal, — don't  buy, — and  tell  us  what  you  think. 

There  may  you  read,  with  spectacles  on  eyes, 
How  many  Wellesleys  did  embark  for  Spain, 
As  if  therein  they  meant  to  colonize, 
How  many  troops  y-crossed  the  laughing  main 

*  Porphyry  said,  that  the  prophecies  of  Daniel  were  written  after  their  com- 
pletion, and  such  may  be  my  fate  here  ;  but  it  requires  no  second  sight  to  foretel 
a  tome :  the  first  glimpse  of  the  knight  was  enough,  fin  a  letter  written  from 
Gibraltar,  August  6,  1809,  to  his  friend  Hodgson,  Lord  Byron  says,  "I  have  seen 
Sir  John  Carr  at  Seville  and  Cadiz;  and,  like  Swift's  barber,  have  been  down 
on  my  knees  to  beg  he  would  not  put  me  into  black  and  white."] 
C 


62  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

LXXXVIII. 

Flows  there  a  tear  of  pity  for  the  dead  ? 

Look  o'er  the  ravage  of  the  reeking  plain ; 

Look  on  the  hands  with  female  slaughter  red; 

Then  to  the  dogs  resign  the  unburied  slain, 

Then  to  the  vulture  let  each  corse  remain  ; 

Albeit  unworthy  of  the  prey -bird's  maw, 

Let  their  bleached  bones,  and  blood's  imbleaching 

stain, 

Long  mark  the  battle-field  with  hideous  awe : 
Thus  only  may  our  sons  conceive  the  scenes  we  saw ! 


That  ne'er  beheld  the  sad  return  again  : 
How  many  buildings  are  in  such  a  place, 
How  many^leagues  from  this  to  yonder  plain, 
How  many  relics  each  cathedral  grace, 
And  where  Giralda  stands  on  her  gigantic  base. 

There  may  you  read  (Oh,  Phoebus,  save  Sir  John ! 
That  there  my  words  prophetic  may  not  err) 
All  that  was  said,  or  sung,  or  lost,  or  won, 
By  vaunting  Wellesley  or  by  blundering  Frere, 
He  that  wrote  half  the  "  Needy  Knifegrinder."* 
Thus  poesy  the  way  to  grandeur  paves — 
Who  would  not  such  diplomatists  prefer? 
But  cease,  my  Muse,  thy  speed  some  respite  craves, 
Leave  legates  to  their  house,  and  armies  to  their  graves. 

Yet  here  of mention  may  be  made, 

Who  for  the  Junta  modell'd  sapient  laws, 
Taught  them  to  govern  ere  they  were  obey'd ; 
Certes,  fit  teacher  to  command,  because 
His  soul  Socratic  no  Xantippe  awes ; 
Bless'd  with  a  dame  in  Virtue's  bosom  nursed, — 
With  her  let  silent  admiration  pause ! — 
True  to  her  second  husband  and  her  first ; 
On  such  unshaken  fame  let  Satire  do  its  worst. 


*  [The  "  Needy  Knifegrinder,"  in  the  Antijacobin,  was  a  joint  production 
of  Messrs.  Frere  and  Canning.] 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  C3 

LXXXIX. 

Nor  yet,  alas  !  the  dreadful  work  is  done ; 
Fresh  legions  pour  adown  the  Pyrenees  : 
It  deepens  still,  the  work  is  scarce  begun, 
Nor  mortal  eye  the  distant  end  foresees. 
Fallen  nations  gaze  on  Spain  ;  if  freed,  she  frees 
More  than  her  fell  Pizarros  once  enchain'd : 
Strange  retribution  !  now  Columbia's  ease 
Repairs  the  wrongs  that  Quito's  sons  sustain'd, 
While  o'er  the  parent  clime  prowls  Murder  unre- 
strain'd. 

xc. 

Not  all  the  blood  at  Talavera  shed, 
Not  all  the  marvels  of  Barossa's  fight, 
Not  Albuera  lavish  of  the  dead, 
Have  won  for  Spain  her  well-asserted  right 
When  shall  her  Olive-Branch  be  free  from  blight  ? 
When  shall  she  breathe  her  from  the  blushing  toil  ? 
How  many  a  doubtful  day  shall  sink  in  night, 
Ere  the  Frank  robber  turn  him  from  his  spoil, 
And  Freedom's  stranger-tree  grow  native  of  the  soil ! 

xci. 

And  thou,  my  friend  i1 — since  unavailing  woe 
Bursts  from  my  heart,  and  mingles  with  the  strain — 
Had  the  sword  laid  thee  with  the  mighty  low, 
Pride  might  forbid  e'en  Friendship  to  complain  : 

1  The  Honourablejohn,  Wingfield^  of  the  Guards,  who  died 
of  a  fever  at  Coimbra,  (May  14,  1811.)     I  had  known  him  ten 
years,  the  better  half  of  his  life,  and  the  happiest  part  of  mine. 
In  the  short  space  of  one  month,  I  have  lost  her  who  gave  me 
being,  and  most  of  those  who  had  made  that  being  tolerable. 
To  me  the  lines  of  Young  are  no  fiction  :— 
"  Insatiate  archer !  could  not  one  suffice  ? 
Thy  shaft  flew  thrice,  and  thrice  my  peace  was  slain, 
And  tin  ice  ere  thrice  yon  moon  had  fill'd  her  horn. 


64  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  I. 

But  thus  unlaurell'd  to  descend  in  vain, 
By  all  forgotten,  save  the  lonely  breast, 
And  mix  unbleeding  with  the  boasted  slain, 
While  Glory  crowns  so  many  a  meaner  crest ! 
What  hadst  thou  done  to  sink  so  peacefully  to  rest  ? 

I  should  have  ventured  a  verse  to  the  memory  of  the  late  Charles 
Skinner  Matthews,  Fellow  of  Downing  College,  Cambridge,  were 
he  not  too  much  above  all  praise  of  mine.     His  powers  of  mind, 
shown  in  the  attainment  of  greater  honours,  against  the  ablest 
candidates,  than  those  of  any  graduate  on  record  at  Cambridge, 
have  sufficiently  established  his  fame  on  the  spot  where  it  waa 
acquired ;  while  his  softer  qualities  live  in  the  recollection  of 
friends  who  loved  him  too  well  to  envy  his  superiority. — [This 
and  the  following  stanza  were  added  in  August,  1811.     In  one  of 
his  schoolboy  poems,  entitled  "  Childish  Recollections,"  Lord 
Byron  has  thus  drawn  the  portrait  of  young  Wingfield : — 
"  Alonzo,  best  and  dearest  of  my  friends, 
Thy  name  ennobles  him  who  thus  commends : 
From  this  fond  tribute  thou  canst  gain  no  praise ; 
The  praise  is  his  who  now  that  tribute  pays. 
Oh !  in  the  promise  of  thy  early  youth, 
If  hope  anticipates  the  words  of  truth, 
Some  loftier  bard  shall  sing  thy  glorious  name, 
To  build  his  own  upon  thy  deathless  fame, 
Friend  of  my  heart,  and  foremost  of  the  list 
Of  those  with  whom  I  lived  supremely  blest, 
Oft  have  we  drain'd  the  font  of  ancient  lore, 
Though  drinking  deeply,  thirsting  still  for  more ; 
Yet  when  confinement's  lingering  hour  was  done, 
Our  sports,  our  studies,  and  our  souls  were  one. 
In  every  element,  unchanged,  the  same, 
All,  all  that  brothers  should  be,  but  the  name." 
Matthews,  the  idol  of  Lord  Byron  at  college,  was  drowned,  while 
bathing  in  the  Cam,  on  the  2d  of  August.     The  following  passage 
of  a  letter  from  Newstead  to  his  friend  Scrope  Davies,  written 
immediately  after  the  event,  bears  the  impress  of  strongand  even 
agonized  feelings : — "  My  dearest  Davies,  some  curse  hangs  over 
me  and  mine.     My  mother  lies  a  corpse  in  the  house ;  one  of  my 
best  friends  is  drowned  in  a  ditch ;  what  can  I  say,  or  think,  or 
do  ?     I  received  a  letter  from  him  the  day  before  yesterday.     My 
dear  Scrope,  if  you  can  spare  a  moment  do  come  down  to  me — I 


CANTO  I.  PILGRIMAGE.  65 

xcn. 

Oh,  known  the  earliest,  and  esteem'd  the  most  I1 
Dear  to  a  heart  where  naught  was  left  so  dear  ! 
Though  to  my  hopeless  days  forever  lost, 
In  dreams  deny  me  not  to  see  thee  here ! 
And  Morn  in  secret  shall  renew  the  tear 
Of  Consciousness  awaking  to  her  woes, 
And  Fancy  hover  o'er  thy  bloodless  bier, 
Till  my  frail  frame  return  to  whence  it  rose, 
And  mourn'd  and  mourner  lie  united  in  repose. 

XCIII. 

Here  is  one  fy  tte  of  Harold's  pilgrimage  : 
Ye  who  of  him  may  further  seek  to  know, 
Shall  find  some  tidings  in  a  future  page, 
If  he  that  rhymeth  now  may  scribble  moe. 
Is  this  too  much  ?  stern  critic  !  say  not  so : 
Patience  !  and  ye  shall  hear  what  he  beheld 
In  other  lands,  where  he  was  doomjd  to  go : 
Lands  that  contain  the  monuments  of  Eld, 
Ere  Greece  and  Grecian  arts  by  barbarous  hands 
were  quell'd.* 

want  a  friend.  Matthews's  last  letter  was  written  on  Friday, — on 
Saturday  he  was  not.  In  ability,  who  was  like  Matthews  ?  How 
did  we  all  shrink  before  him !  You  do  me  but  justice  in  saying  I 
would  have  risked  my  paltry  existence  to  have  preserved  his. 
This  very  evening  did  I  mean  to  write,  inviting  him,  as  I  invite 
you,  my  very  dear  friend,  to  visit  me.  What  will  our  poor  Hob- 
house  feel  T  His  letters  breathe  but  of  Matthews.  Come  to  me, 
Scrope,  I  am  almost  desolate— left  almost  alone  in  the  world  !" 
Matthews  was  the  son  of  John  Matthews,  Esq.,  (the  representa- 
tive of  Herefordshire,  in  the  parliament  of  1802— 1806,)  and  brother 
of  the  author  of  "  The  Diary  of  an  Invalid,"  also  untimely 
snatched  away.] 

1  ["  Beloved  the  most." — MS.] 

8  ["Dec.  30th,  1809."— MS.] 
e* 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE. 


CANTO    THE    SECOND. 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE, 


CANTO   THE    SECOND. 


I. 

COME,  blue-eyed  maid  of  heaven  ! — but  thou,  alas! 
Didst  never  yet  one  mortal  song  inspire — 
Goddess  of  Wisdom  !  here  thy  temple  was, 
And  is,  despite  of  war  and  wasting  fire,1 
And  years  that  bade  thy  worship  to  expire  : 
But  worse  than  steel,  and  flame,  and  ages  slow, 
Is  the  dread  sceptre  and  dominion  dire 
Of  men  who  never  felt  the  sacred  glow     [bestow. 
That  thoughts  of  thee  and  thine  on  polish'd  breasts 

1  Part  of  the  Acropolis  was  destroyed  by  the  explosion  of  a 
magazine  during  the  Venetian  siege. — [On  the  highest  part  of 
Lycabettus,  as  Chandler  was  informed  by  an  eyewitness,  the 
Venetians,  in  1687,  placed  four  mortars  and  six  pieces  of  cannon, 
when  they  battered  the  Acropolis.  One  of  the  bombs  was  fatal 
to  some  of  the  sculpture  on  the  west  front  of  the  Parthenon.  "  In 
1667,"  says  Mr.  Hobhouse,  "  every  antiquity  of  which  there  is 
now  any  trace  in  the  Acropolis  was  in  a  tolerable  state  of  pre 
servation.  This  great  temple  might,  at  that  period,  be  called 
entire; — having  been  previously  a  Christian  church,  it  was  then 
a  mosque,  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world.  The  portion  yet  stand- 
ing cannot  fail  to  fill  the  mind  of  the  most  indifferent  spectator  with 
sentiments  of  astonishment  and  awe ;  and  the  same  reflections  arise 
upon  the  sight  even  of  the  enormous  masses  of  marble  ruins 
which  are  spread  upon  the  area  of  the  temple."] 

69 


70  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

II. 

Ancient  of  days  !  august  Athena  I1  where, 
Where  are  thy  men  of  might  ?  thy  grand  in  soul  ? 
Gone — glimmering  through  the  dream  of  things 

that  were  : 

First  in  the  race  that  led  to  Glory's  goal, 
They  won  and  pass'd  away — is  this  the  whole  ? 
A  schoolboy's  tale,  the  wonder  of  an  hour  ! 
The  warrior's  weapon  and  the  sophist's  stole 
Are  sought  in  vain,  and  o'er  each  mouldering  tower, 
Dim  with  the  mist  of  years,  gray  flits  the  shade  of  power. 

1  We  can  all  feel,  or  imagine  the  regret  with  which  the  ruins 
of  cities,  once  the  capitals  of  empires,  areheheld:  the  reflections 
suggested  by  such  objects  are  too  trite  to  require  recapitulation. 
But  never  did  the  littleness  of  man  and  the  vanity  of  his  very 
best  virtues,  of  patriotism  to  exalt,  and  of  valour  to  defend  his 
country,  appear  more  conspicuous  than  in  the  record  of  what 
Athens  was,  and  the  certainty  of  what  she  now  is.  This  theatre 
of  contention  between  mighty  factions,  of  the  straggles  of  orators, 
the  exaltation  and  deposition  of  tyrants,  the  triumph  and  punish- 
ment of  generals,  is  now  become  a  scene  of  petty  intrigue  and  per- 
petual disturbance,  between  the  bickering  agents  of  certain  British 
nobility  and  gentry.  "  The  wild  foxes,  the  owls  and  serpents  in 
the  ruins  of  Babylon,"  were  surely  less  degrading  than  such  inha- 
bitants. The  Turks  have  the  plea  of  conquest  for  their  tyranny, 
and  the  Greeks  have  only  suffered  the  fortune  of  war,  incidental 
to  the  bravest ;  but  how  are  the  mighty  fallen,  when  two  painters 
contest  the  privilege  of  plundering  the  Parthenon,  and  triumph 
in  turn,  according  to  the  tenor  of  each  succeeding  firman  !  Sylla 
could  but  punish,  Philip  subdue,  and  Xerxes  burn  Athens ;  but  it 
remained  for  the  paltry  antiquarian,  and  his  despicable  agents,  to 
render  her  contemptible  as  himself  and  his  pursuits.  The  Par- 
thenon, before  its  destruction  in  part  by  fire,  during  the  Venetian 
siege,  had  been  a  temple,  a  church,  and  a  mosque.  In  each  point 
of  view  it  is  an  object  of  regard  ;  it  changed  its  worshippers ;  but 
still  it  was  a  place  of  worship  thrice  sacred  to  devotion :  its  vio- 
lation is  a  triple  sacrifice.  But — 

"  Man,  proud  man, 
Dress'd  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven 
As  make  the  angels  weep." 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  71 

ill. 

Son  of  the  morning,  rise  !  approach  you  here ! 
Come — but  molest  not  yon  defenceless  urn  • 
Look  on  this  spot — a  nation's  sepulchre ! 
Abode  of  gods,  whose  shrines  no  longer  burn. 
Even  gods  must  yield — religions  take  their  turn  : 
'Twas  Jove's — 'tis  Mahomet's — and  other  creeds 
Will  rise  with  other  years,  till  man  shall  learn 
Vainly  his  incense  soars,  his  victim  bleeds ;  [reeds.1 
Poor  child  of  Doubt  and  Death,  whose  hope  is  built  on 

IV. 

Bound  to  the  earth,  he  lifts  his  eye  to  heaven — 
Is't  not  enough,  unhappy  thing,  to  know 
Thou  art  ?     Is  this  a  boon  so  kindly  given, 
That  being,  thou  wouldst  be  again,  and  go, 

1  [In  the  original  MS.  we  find  the  following  note  to  this  and  the 
five  succeeding  stanzas,  which  had  been  prepared  for  publication, 
but  was  afterwards  withdrawn, "  from  a  fear,"  says  the  poet, "  that 
it  might  be  considered  rather  as  an  attack,  than  a  defence  of  reli- 
gion."— "  In  this  age  of  bigotry,  when  the  puritan  and  priest  have 
changed  places,  and  the  wretched  Catholic  is  visited  with  the  '  sins 
of  his  fathers,'  even  unto  generations  far  beyond  the  pale  of  the 
commandment,  the  cast  of  opinion  in  these  stanzas  will,  doubtless, 
meet  with  many  a  contemptuous  anathema.  But  let  it  be  remem- 
bered, that  the  spirit  they  breathe  is  desponding,  not  sneering, 
skepticism ;  that  he  who  has  seen  the  Greek  and  Moslem  super- 
stitions contending  for  mastery  over  the  former  shrines  of  Poly- 
theism— who  has  left  in  his  own  '  Pharisees,  thanking  God  that 
they  are  not  like  publicans  and  sinners,'  and  Spaniards  in  theirs, 
abhorring  the  heretics,  who  have  Jiolpen  them  in  their  need, — will 
be  not  a  little  bewildered,  and  begin  to  think,  that  as  only  one  of 
them  can  be  right,  they  may,  most  of  them,  be  wrong.  With 
regard  to  morals,  and  the  effect  of  religion  on  mankind,  it  appears, 
from  all  historical  testimony,  to  have  had  less  effect  in  making 
them  love  their  neighbours,  than  inducing  that  cordial  Christian 
abhorrence  between  sectaries  and  schismatics.  The  Turks  and 
Quakers  are  the  most  tolerant :  if  an  Infidel  pays  his  heratch  to 
the  former,  he  may  pray  how,  when,  and  where  he  pleases ;  and 
the  mild  tenets  and  devout  demeanour  of  the  latter,  make  their 
.ivcs  the  truest  commentary  on  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount."] 


72  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

Thou  know'st  not,  reck'st  not  to  what  region,  so 
On  earth  no  more,  but  mingled  with  the  skies  ? 
Still  wilt  thou  dream1  on  future  joy  and  woe  ? 
Regard  and  weigh  yon  dust  before  it  flies : 
That  little  urn  saith  more  than  thousand  homilies. 


v. 

Or  burst  the  banish'd  hero's  lofty  mound  j 
Far  on  the  solitary  shore  he  sleeps  :2 
He  fell,  and  falling  nations  mourn'd  around  ; 
But  now  not  one  of  saddening  thousands  weeps, 
Nor  warlike  worshipper  his  vigil  keeps 
Where  demi-gods  appear'd,  as  records  tell. 
Remove  yon  skull  from  out  the  scatter'd  heaps  : 
Is  that  a  temple  where  a  God  may  dwell  ? 
Why,  even  the  worm  at  last  disdains  her  shatter'd  cell ! 

VI. 

Look  on  its  broken  arch,  its  ruin'd  wall, 
Its  chambers  desolate,  and  portals  foul : 
Yes,  this  was  once  Ambition's  airy  hall, 
The  dome  of  Thought,  the  palace  of  the  Soul : 
Behold  through  each  lack-lustre,  eyeless  hole, 
The  gay  recess  of  Wisdom  and  of  Wit, 
And  Passion's  host,  that  never  brook'd  control : 
Can  all  saint,  sage,  or  sophist  ever  writ, 
People  this  lonely  tower,  this  tenement  refit  ? 


*  [«  Still  wilt  thou  harp."— MS.] 

2  It  was  not  always  the  custom  of  the  Greeks  to  hum  then 
dead  ;  the  greater  Ajax,  in  particular,  was  interred  entire.  Almost 
all  the  chiefs  became  gods  after  their  decease  ;  and  he  was  indeed 
neglected,  who  had  not  annual  games  near  his  tomb,  or  festivals 
in  honour  of  his  memory  by  his  countrymen,  as  Achilles,  Brasidas, 
&c.,  and  at  last  even  Antinous,  whose  death  was  as  heroic  as  his 
life  was  infamous. 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  73 

VII. 

Well  didst  thou  speak,  Athena's  wisest  son  ! 
"  All  that  we  know  is,  nothing  can  be  known." 
Why  should  we  shrink  from  what  we  cannot  shun? 
Each  hath  his  pang,  but  feeble  sufferers  groan 
With  brain-born  dreams  of  evil  all  their  own. 
Pursue  what  Chance  or  Fate  proclaimeth  best; 
Peace  waits  us  on  the  shores  of  Acheron  : 
There  no  forced  banquet  claims  the  sated  guest, 
But  Silence  spreads  the  couch  of  every  welcome  rest. 

VIII. 

Yet  if,  as  holiest  men  have  deem'd,  there  be 
A  land  of  souls  beyond  that  sable  shore, 
To  shame  the  doctrine  of  the  Sadducee 
And  sophists,  madly  vain  of  dubious  lore  ; 
How  sweet  it  were  in  concert  to  adore 
With  those  who  made  our  mortal  labours  light ! 
To  hear  each  voice  we  fear'd  to  hear  no  more  ! 
Behold  each  mighty  shade  reveal'd  to  sight, 
The  Bactrian,  Samian  sage,  and  all  who  taught  the 
right  I1 

IX. 

There,  thou  ! — whose  love  and  life  together  fled, 
Have  left  me  here  to  love  and  live  in  vain — 
Twined  with  my  heart,  and  can  I  deem  thee  dead 
When  busy  Memory  flashes  on  my  brain  ? 

1  [In  the  original  MS.,  for  this  magnificent  stanza,  we  find 
what  follows  :— 

*«  Frown  not  upon  me,  churlish  priest !  that  I 
Look  not  for  life,  where  life  may  never  be; 
I  am  no  sneerer  at  thy  fantasy  : 
Thou  pitiest  me, — alas  !  I  envy  thee, 
Thou  bold  discoverer  in  an  unknown  sea, 
Of  happy  isles  and  happier  tenants  there ; 
I  ask  thee  not  to  prove  a  Sadducee  ; 
Still  dream  of  Paradise,  thou  know'st  not  where, 
But  lovest  too  well  to  bid  thine  erring  brother  share."} 


71  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  II. 

Well — I  will  dream  that  we  may  meet  again, 
And  woo  the  vision  to  my  vacant  breast : 
If  aught  of  young  Remembrance  then  remain, 
Be  as  it  may  Futurity's  behest, 
For  me  'twere  bliss  enough  to  know  thy  spirit  blest  !* 

x. 

Here  let  me  sit  upon  this  massy  stone,2 
The  marble  column's  yet  unshaken  base  ; 
Here,  son  of  Saturn  !  was  thy  favourite  throne  :3 
Mightiest  of  many  such  !    Hence  let  me  trace 
The  latent  grandeur  of  thy  dwelling-place. 
It  may  not  be  :  nor  even  can  Fancy's  eye 
Restore  what  Time  hath  labour'd  to  deface. 
Yet  these  proud  pillars  claim  no  passing  sigh ; 
Unmov'd  the  Moslem  sits,  the  light  Greek  carols  by. 

XI. 

But  who,  of  all  the  plunderers  of  yon  fane 
On  high,  where  Pallas  linger'd,  loath  to  flee 

1  [Lord  Byron  wrote  this  stanza  at  Newstead,  in  October,  1811, 
on  hearingof  the  deatkof  his  Cambridge  friend,  young  Eddlestone ; 
"making,"  he  says,  "the  sixth,  within  four  months,  of  friends  and 
relations  that  I  have  lost  between  May  and  the  end  of  August."] 
a  ["  The  thought  and  the  expression,"  says  Professor  Clarke, 
in  a  letter  to  the  poet,  "  are  here  so  truly  Petrarch's,  that  I  would 
ask  you  whether  you  ever  read, — 

Poi  quando  '1  vero  sgombra 

Quel  dolce  error  pur  li  medesmo  assido, 

Me  freddo,  pietra  morta  in  pietra  viva ; 

In  guisa  d'  uom  che  pensi  e  piange  e  scriva.' 
'  Thus  rendered  by  Wilmot, — 
'  But  when  rude  truth  destroys 

The  loved  illusion  of  the  dreamed  sweets, 

I  sit  me  down  on  the  cold  rugged  stone, 

Less  cold,  less  dead  than  I,  and  think  and  weep  alone.'  "] 
8  The  temple  of  Jupiter  Olympius,  of  which  sixteen  columns, 
entirely  of  marble,  yet  survive:  originally  there  were  one  hundred 
and  fifty.    These  columns,  however,  are  by  many  supposed  to 
have  belonged  to  the  Pantheon. 


CANIO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  75 

The  latest  relic  of  her  ancient  reign  ; 
The  last,  the  worst,  dull  spoiler,  who  was  he  ? 
Blush,  Caledonia  !  such  thy  sons  could  be  ! 
England  !  I  joy  no  child  he  was  of  thine  : 
Thy  free-born  men  should  spare  what  once  was  free; 
Yet  they  could  violate  each  saddening  shrine, 
And  bear  these  altars  o'er  the  long-reluctant  brine.1 

XII. 

But  most  the  modern  Pict's  ignoble  boast, 
To  rive  what  Goth  and  Turk,  and  Time  hath  spared;2 
Cold  as  the  crags  upon  his  native  coast,3 
His  mind  as  barren  and  his  heart  as  hard, 
Is  he  whose  head  conceived,  whose  hand  prepared 
Aught  to  displace  Athena's  poor  remains  : 
Her  sons  too  weak  the  sacred  shrine  to  guard, 
Yet  felt  some  portion  of  their  mother's  pains,4 
And  never  kne  w,  till  then,  the  weight  of  despot's  chains. 

XIII. 

What !  shall  it  e'er  be  said  by  British  tongue 
Albion  was  happy  in  Athena's  tears  ? 
Though  in  thy  name  the  slave  her  bosom  wrung, 
Tell  not  the  deed  to  blushing  Europe's  ears; 

1  The  ship  was  wrecked  in  the  Archipelago. 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  A,  for  some  strictures  on  the  removal  of 
the  works  of  art  from  Athens. 

8  f_"  Cold  and  accursed  as  his  native  coast." — MS.] 

4  I  cannot  resist  availing  myself  of  the  permission  of  my  friend 
Dr.  Clarke,  whose  name  requires  no  comment  with  the  public, 
but  whose  sanction  will  add  tenfold  weight  to  my  testimony,  to 
insert  the  following  extract  from  a  very  obliging  letter  of  his  to 
me,  as  a  note  to  the  above  lines : — "When  the  last  of  the  Metopes 
was  taken  from  the  Parthenon,  and,  in  moving  of  it,  great  part  of 
the  superstructure  with  one  of  the  triglyphs  was  thrown  down  by 
the  workmen  whom  Lord  Elgin  employed,  the  disdar,  who  beheld 
the  mischief  done  in  the  building,  took  his  pipe  from  his  moutn, 
dropped  a  tear,  and,  in  a  supplicating  tone  of  voice,  said  to  Lusieri. 
Tt'Xoj ! — I  was  present."  The  disdar  alluded  to  was  the  fathe* 
of  the  present  disJar. 


76  CH1LDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  II. 

The  ocean  queen,  the  free  Britannia,  bears 
The  last  poor  plunder  from  a  bleeding  land : 
Yes,  she,  whose  generous  aid  her  name  endears, 
Tore  down  those  remnants  with  a  harpy's  hand, 
Which  envious  Eld  forbore,  and  tyrants  left  to  stand.1 

XIV. 

Where  was  thine  ^Egis,  Pallas!  that  appall'd 
Stern  Alaric  and  Havoc  on  their  way  ?2 
Where  Peleus'  son  ?  whom  hell  in  vain  enthralled, 
His  shades  from  hades  upon  that  dreary  day 
Bursting  to  light  in  terrible  array ! 
What !  could  not  Pluto  spare  the  chief  once  more, 
To  scare  a  second  robber  from  his  prey  ? 
Idly  he  wander'd  on  the  Stygian  shore, 
Nor  now  preserved  the  walls  he  loved  to  shield  before. 

1  [After  stanza  xiii.  the  original  MS.  has  the  following : — 
"Come,  then,  ye  classic  thanes  of  each  degree, 

Dark  Hamilton  and  sullen  Aberdeen, 

Come  pilfer  all  the  Pilgrim  loves  to  see, 

All  that  yet  consecrates  the  fading  scene : 

Oh  !  better  were  it  ye  had  never  been, 

Nor  ye,  nor  Elgin,  nor  that  lesser  wight, 

The  victim  sad  of  vase-collecting  spleen, 

House-furnisher  withal,  one  Thomas  hight, 
Than  ye  should  bear  one  stone  from  wrong'd  Athena's  site. 

"  Or  will  the  gentle  dilettanti  crew 
Now  delegate  the  task  to  digging  Cell, 
That  mighty  limner  of  a  bird's-eye  view, 
How  like  to  nature  let  his  volumes  tell ; 
Who  can  with  him  the  folio's  limits  swell 
With  all  the  author  saw,  or  said  he  saw  ? 
Who  can  topographize  or  delve  so  well  1 
No  boaster  he,  nor  impudent  and  raw, 
His  pencil,  pen,  and  shade,  alike  without  a  flaw."] 

9  According  to  Zosimus,  Minerva  and  Achilles  frightened  Alario 
from  tne  Acropolis;  but  others  relate  that  the  Gothic  king  was 
neariv  as  mischievous  as  the  Scottish  peer. — See  Chandler. 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  77 

xv. 

Cold  is  the  heart,  fair  Greece  !  that  looks  on  thee, 
Nor  feels  as  lovers  o'er  the  dust  they  loved ; 
Dull  is  the  eye  that  will  not  weep  to  see 
Thy  walls  defaced,  thy  mouldering  shrines  removed 
By  British  hands,  which  it  had  best  behooved 
To  guard  those  relics  ne'er  to  be  restored. 
Cursed  be  the  hour  when  from  their  isle  they  roved, 
And  once  again  thy  hapless  bosom  gored, 
And  snatch'd  thy  shrinking  gods  to  northern  climes 
abhorr'd ! 


XVI. 

But  where  is  Harold  ?  shall  I  then  forget 

To  urge  the  gloomy  wanderer  o'er  the  wave  ? 

Little  reck'd  he  of  all  that  men  regret ; 
No  loved-one  now  in  feign'd  lament  could  rayg ;  ' 
No  friend  the  parting  hand  extended  gave, 
Ere  the  cold  stranger  pass'd  to  other  climes : 
Hard  is  his  heart  whom  charms  may_aot  enslave  ; 
But  Harold  felt  not  as  in  other  times, 
And  left  without  a  sish  the  land  of  war  and  crimes. 


XVII. 

He  that  has  sail'd  upon  the  dark-blue  sea 
Has  view'd  at  times,  I  ween,  a  full  fair  sight ; 
When  the  fresh  breeze  is  fair  as  breeze  may  be, 
The  white  sail  set,  the  gallant  frigate  tight ; 
Masts,  spires,  and  strand  retiring  to  the  right, 
The  glorious  main  expanding  o'er  the  bow, 
The    convoy    spread  like    wild    swans    in    theii 

flight, 

The  dullest  sailer  wearing  bravely  now, 
So  gayly  curl  the  waves  before  each  dashing  prow 


78  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

XVIII. 

And,  oh !  the  little  warlike  world  within  ! 
The  well-reeved  guns,  the  netted  canopy,1 
The  hoarse  command,  the  busy  humming  din, 
When,  at  a  word,  the  tops  are  mann'd  on  high  : 
Hark,  to  the  boatswain's  call,  the  cheering  cry  ! 
While  through  the  seaman's  hand  the  tackle  glides , 
Or  schoolboy  midshipman  that,  standing  by, 
Strains  his  shrill  pipe  as  good  or  ill  betides, 
And  well  the  docile  crew  that  skilful  urchin  guides. 

XIX. 

White  is  the  glassy  deck,  without  a  stain, 
Where  on  the  watch  the  staid  lieutenant  walks : 
Look  on  that  part  which  sacred  doth  remain 
For  the  lone  chieftain,  who  majestic  stalks, 
Silent  and  feared  by  all — not  oft  he  talks 
With  aught  beneath  him,  if  he  would  preserve 
That  strict  restraint,  which,  broken,  ever  balks 
Conquest  and  Fame  :  but  Britons  rarely  swerve 
From  law,  however  stern,  which  tends  their  strength 
to  nerve.2 

xx. 

Blow  !  swiftly  blow,  thou  keel-compelling  gale  • 
Till  the  broad  sun  withdraws  his  lessening  ray ; 
Then  must  the  pennant-bearer  slacken  sail, 
That  lagging  barks  may  make  their  lazy  way. 
Ah  !  grievance  sore,  and  listless,  dull  delay, 
To  waste  on  sluggish  hulks  the  sweetest  breeze  ! 
What  leagues  are  lost,  before  the  dawn  of  day, 
Thus  loitering  pensive  on  the  willing  seas, 
The  flappingsail  haul'd  down  to  halt  for  logs  like  these ! 

1  To  prevent  blocks  or  splinters  from  falling  on  deck  during 
action. 
"  ["  From  Discipline's  stern  law,"  &c MS.] 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  79 

XXI. 

The  moon  is  up  ;  by  Heaven,  a  lovely  eve  ! 
Long  streams  of  light  o'er  dancing  waves  expand ; 
Now  lads  on  shore  may  sigh,  and  maids  believe  • 
Such  be  our  fate  when  we  return  to  land  ! 
Meantime  some  rude  Arion's  restless  hand 
Wakes  the  brisk  harmony  that  sailors  love;1 
A  circle  there  of  merry  listeners  stand, 
Or  to  some  well-known  measure  featly  move, 
Thoughtless,  as  if  on  shore  they  still  were  free  to  rove. 

XXII. 

Through  Calpe's  straits  survey  the  steepy  shore  ; 
Europe  and  Afric  on  each  other  gaze  ! 
Lands  of  the  dark-eyed  maid  and  dusky  Moor 
Alike  beheld  beneath  pale  Hecate's  blaze : 
How  softly  on  the  Spanish  shore  she  plays, 
Disclosing  rock  and  slope,  and  forest  brown, 
Distinct,  though  darkening  with  her  waning  phase; 
But  Mauritania's  giant  shadows  frown, 
From  mountain-cliff  to  coast  descending  sombre  down. 

XXIII. 

'Tis  night,  when  Meditation  bids  us  feel 
We  once  have  loved,  though  love  is  at  an  end : 
The  heart,  lone  mourner  of  its  baffled  zeal, 
Though  friendless  now,  will  dream  it  had  a  friend.2 
Who  with  the  weight  of  years  would  wish  to  bend. 
When  Youth  itself  survives  young  Love  and  Joy  ? 
Alas!  when  mingling  souls  forget  to  blend, 
Death  hath  but  little  left  him  to  destroy  ! 
Ah !  happy  years !  once  more  who  would  not  be  a  boy  i 

1  ["  Plies  the  brisk  instrument  that  sailors  love." — MS.] 
8  ["  Bleeds  the  lone  heart,  once  boundless  in  its  zeal, 

And  friendless  now,  yet  dreams  it  had  a  friend." — MS."] 


SO  CHILDE   HAROLD'S 


XXIV. 

Thus  bending  o'er  the  vessel's  laving  side, 
To  gaze  on  Dian's  wave-reflected  sphere, 
The  soul  forgets  her  schemes  of  Hope  and  Pride, 
And  flies  unconscious  o'er  each  backward  year. 
None  are  so  desolate  but  something  dear, 
Dearer  than  self,  possesses  or  possess'd 
A  thought  and  claims  the  homage  of  a  tear ; 
A  flashing  pang  !  of  xvhich  the  weary  breast 
Would  still,  albeit  in  vain,  the  heavy  heart  divest. 

XXV. 

To  sit  on  rocks,  to  muse  o'er  flood  and  fell, 

To  slowly  trace  the  forest's  shady  scene, 

Where    things    that    own    not    man's   dominion 

dwell, 

And  mortal  foot  hath  ne'er  or  rarely  been  ; 
To  climb  the  trackless  mountain  all  unseen, 
With  the  wild  flock  that  never  needs  a  fold  ; 
Alone  o'er  steeps  and  foaming  falls  to  lean  ; 
This  is  not  solitude  ;  'tis  but  to  hold 
Converse  with  nature's  charms,  and  view  her  stores 

unroll'd. 


XXVI. 

But  midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men, 
To  hear,  to  see,  to  feel,  and  to  possess, 
And  roam  along,  the  world's  tired  denizen, 
With  none  who  bless  us,  none  whom  we  can  bless; 
Minions  of  splendour  shrinking  from  distress  ! 
None  that,  with  kindred  consciousness  endued, 
If  we  were  not,  would  seem  to  smile  the  less, 
Of  all  that  flatter'd,  follow'd,  sought,  and  sued  ; 
This  is  to  be  alone ;  this,  this  is  solitude  ! 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  81 

XXVII. 

More  blest  the  life  of  godly  eremite, 
Such  as  on  lonely  Athos  may  be  seen,1 
Watching  at  eve  upon  the  giant  height, 
Which  look  o'er  waves  so  blue,  skies  so  serene, 
That  he  who  there  at  such  an  hour  hath  been 
Will  wistful  linger  on  that  hallow'd  spot ; 
Then  slowly  tear  him  from  the  witching  scene, 
Sigh  forth  one  wish  that  such  had  been  his  lot, 
hen  turn  to  hate  a  world  he  had  almost  forgot. 

XXVIII. 

Pass  we  the  long,  unvarying  course,  the  track 
Oft  trod,  that  never  leaves  a  trace  behind ; 
Pass  we  the  calm,  the  gale,  the  change,  the  tack, 
And  each  well  known  caprice  of  wave  and  wind  ; 
Pass  we  the  joys  and  sorrows  sailors  find, 
Coop'd  in  their  winged  sea-girt  citadel ; 
The  foul,  the  fair,  the  contrary,  the  kind, 
As  breezes  rise  and  fall  and  billows  swell, 
Till  on  some  jocund  morn — lo,  land!  and  all  is  well : 

XXIX. 

But  not  in  silence  pass  Calypso's  isles,2 
The  sister  tenants  of  the  middle  deep  ; 

1  [One  of  Lord  Byron's  chief  delights  was,  as  he  himself  states 
in  one  of  his  journals,  after  bathing  in  some  retired  spot,  to  seat 
himself  on  a  high  rock  above  the  sea,  and  there  remain  for  hours, 
gazing  upon  the  sky  and  the  waters.  "  He  led  the  life,"  says 
Sir  Egerton  Brydges,  "as  he  wrote  the  strains,  of  a  true  poet. 
He  could  sleep,  and  very  frequently  did  sleep,  wrapped  up  in  his 
rough  great  coat,  on  the  hard  boards  of  a  deck,  while  the  winds 
and  the  waves  were  roaring  round  him  on  every  side,  and  could 
subsist  on  a  crust  and  a  glass  of  water.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
persuade  me,  that  he  who  is  a  coxcomb  in  his  manners,  and  arti- 
ficial in  his  habits  of  life,  could  write  good  poetry." 

8  Goza  is  said  to  have  been  the  island  of  Calypso. — ["The 


83  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  II 

There  for  the  weary  still  a  haven  smiles, 
Though  the  fair  goddess  long  hath  ceased  to  weep, 
And  o'er  her  cliifs  a  fruitless  watch  to  keep 
For  him  who  dared  prefer  a  mortal  bride  : 
Here,  too,  his  boy  essay'd  the  dreadful  leap 
Stem  Mentor  urged  from  high  to  yonder  tide  ; 
While  thus  of  both  bereft,  the  nymph-queen  doubly 
sigh'd. 

XXX. 

Her  reign  is  past,  her  gentle  glories  gone  : 
But  trust  not  this :  too  easy  youth,  beware  ! 
A  mortal  sovereign  holds  her  dangerous  throne, 
And  thou  mayst  find  a  new  Calypso  there. 
Sweet  Florence  !  could  another  ever  share 
This  wayward,  loveless  heart,  it  would  be  thine  : 
But  check'd  by  every  tie,  I  may  not  dare 
To  cast  a  worthless  offering  at  thy  shrine, 
Nor  ask  so  dear  a  breast  to  feel  one  pang  for  mine. 

XXXI. 

Thus  Harold  deem'd,  as  on  that  lady's  eye1 
He  look'd,  and  met  its  beam  without  a  thought, 
Save  Admiration  glancing  harmless  by : 
Love  kept  aloof,  albeit  not  far  remote, 
Who  knew  his  votary  often  lost  and  caught, 
But  knew  him  as  his  worshipper  no  more, 
And  ne'er  again  the  boy  his  bosom  sought : 
Since  now  he  vainly  urged  him  to  adore, 
Well  deem'd  the  little  god  his  ancient  sway  was  o'er. 

identity  of  the  habitation  assigned  by  poets  to  the  nymph  Calypso, 
has  occasioned  much  discussion  and  variety  of  opinion.     Some 
place  it  at  Malta,  and  some  at  Goza." — Sir  R.  C.  Hoards  Classical 
Tour.] 
1  ["  Thus  Harold  spoke,"  &c — MS.] 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  83 


-V  XXXII. 

Fair  Florence1  found,  in  sooth  with  some  amaze, 
One  who,  'twas  said,  still  sigh'd  to  all  he  saw, 
Withstand,  unmoved,  the  lustre  of  her  gaze, 
Which  others  hail'd  with  real  or  mimic  awe, 
Their  hope,  their  doom,  their  punishment,  their  law ; 
All  that  gay  Beauty  from  her  bondsmen  claims : 
And  much  she  marvell'd  that  a  youth  so  raw 
Nor  felt,  nor  feign'd  at  least,  the  oft-told  flames, 
Which,  though  sometimes  they  frown,  yet  rarely 
anger  dames. 

XXXIII. 

Little  knew  she  that  seeming  marble  heart, 
Now  mask'd  in  silence  or  withheld  by  pride, 
Was  not  unskilful  in  the  spoiler's  art,2 
And  spread  its  snares  licentious  far  and  wide  j3 
Nor  from  the  base  pursuit  had  turn'd  aside, 
As  long  as  aught  was  worthy  to  pursue : 
But  Harold  on  such  arts  no  more  relied; 
And  had  he  doted  on  those  eyes  so  blue, 
Yet  never  would  he  join  the  lover's  whining  crew. 

1  [For  an  account  of  this  accomplished  but  eccentric  lady, 
whose  acquaintance  the  poet  formed  at  Malta,  see  Miscellaneous 
Poems,  September,  1809,  "  To  Florence." — "  In  one  so  imagi- 
native as  Lord  Byron,  who,  while  he  infused  so  much  of  his  life 
into  his  poetry,  mingled  also  not  a  little  of  poetry  with  his  life, 
it  is  difficult,"  says  Moore,  "  in  unravelling  the  texture  of  his 
feelings,  to  distinguish  at  all  times  between  the  fanciful  and  the 
real.  His  description  here,  for  instance,  of  the  unmoved  and 
« loveless  heart,'  with  which  he  contemplated  even  the  charms  of 
this  attractive  person,  is  wholly  at  variance  with  the  statements 
in  many  of  his  letters;  and,  above  all,  with  one  of  the  most 
graceful  of  his  lesser  poems,  addressed  to  this  same  lady,  during 
a  thunder-storm  on  his  road  to  Zitza."] 

8  [Against  this  line  it  is  sufficient  to  set  the  poet's  own  decla- 
ration, in  1821. — "I  am  not  a  Joseph,  nor  aScipio;  but  I  can 
safely  affirm,  that  I  never  in  my  life  seduced  any  woman."] 

3  ["  We  have  here  another  instance  of  his  propensity  to  self 


84  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

XXXIV. 

Not  much  he  kens,  I  ween,  of  woman's  breast, 

Who  thinks  that  wanton  thing  is  won  by  sighs ; 

What  careth  she  for  hearts  when  once  possess'd  ? 

Do  proper  homage  to  thine  idol's  eyes ; 

But  not  too  humbly,  or  she  will  despise 

Thee  and  thy  suit,  though  told  in  moving  tropes : 
,    Disguise  even  tenderness,  if  thou  art  wise  ; 

Brisk  Confidence1  still  best  with  woman  copes : 
Pique  her  and  soothe  in  turn,  soon  Passion  crowns  thy 
hopes. 

XXXV. 

>Tis  an  old  lesson  ;  Time  approves  it  true, 
And  those  who  know  it  best,  deplore  it  most ; 
When  all  is  won  that  all  desire  to  woo, 
The  paltry  prize  is  hardly  worth  the  cost : 
Youth  wasted,  minds  degraded,  honour  lost, 
These  are  thy  fruits,  successful  Passion  !  these  ! 
If,  kindly  cruel,  early  Hope  is  crost, 
Still  to  the  last  it  rankles,  a  disease, 
Not  to  be  cured  when  Love  itself  forgets  to  please. 

XXXVI. 

Away  !  nor  let  me  loiter  in  my  song, 
For  we  have  many  a  mountain-path  to  tread, 
And  many  a  varied  shore  to  sail  along, 
By  pensive  Sadness,  not  by  Fiction,  led — 
Climes,  fair  withal  as  ever  mortal  head 
Imagined  in  its  little  schemes  of  thought  ; 
Or  e'er  in  new  Utopias  were  ared, 
To  teach  man  what  he  might  be,  or  he  ought ; 
If  that  corrupted  thing  could  ever  such  be  taught. 

misrepresentation.  However  great  might  have  been  the  irregu- 
larities of  his  college  life,  such  phrases  as  '  the  spoiler's  art,'  and 
'spreading  snares,'  were  in  no  wise  applicable  to  them." — 
MOORE.] 

1  ["  Brisk    mpudence,"  &c. — MS.] 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  85 

XXXVII. 

Dear  Nature  is  the  kindest  mother  still, 
Though  always  changing  in  her  aspect  mild  ; 
From  her  bare  bosom  let  me  take  my  fill, 
Her  never-weaned,  though  not  her  favour'd  child. 
Oh  !  she  is  fairest  in  her  features  wild, 
Where  nothing  polish'd  dares  pollute  her  path  : 
To  me  by  day  or  night  she  ever  smiled, 
Though  I  have  mark'd  her  when  none  other  hath, 
And  sought  her  more  and  more,  and  loved  her  best  in 
wrath. 

XXXVIII. 

Land  of  Albania  !  where  Iskander  rose, 
Theme  of  the  young,  and  beacon  of  the  wise, 
And  he  his  namesake,  whose  oft-baffled  foes 
Shrunk  from  his  deeds  of  chivalrous  emprize  : 
Land  of  Albania  !l  let  me  bend  mine  eyes 
On  thee,  thou  rugged  nurse  of  savage  men  ! 
The  cross  descends,  thy  minarets  arise, 
And  the  pale  crescent  sparkles  in  the  glen. 
Through  many  a  cypress  grove  within  each  city's  ken 

XXXIX. 

Childe  Harold  sail'd,  and  pass'd  the  barren  spot, 
Where  sad  Penelope  o'erlook'd  the  wave;2 
And  onward  view'd  the  mount,  nor  yet  forgot, 
The  lover's  refuge,  and  the  Lesbian's  grave. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  [B]. 

a  Ithaca. — ["  Sept.  24th,"  says  Mr.  Hobhouse,  "  we  were  in 
the  channel,  with  Ithaca,  then  in  the  hands  of  the  French,  to  the 
west  of  us.  We  were  close  to  it,  and  saw  a  few  shrubs  on  a 
brown  heathy  land,  two  little  towns  in  the  hills,  scattered  amongst 
trees,  and  a  windmill  or  two,  with  a  tower  on  the  heights.  That 
Ithaca  was  not  very  strongly  garrisoned  you  will  easily  believe, 
when  I  tell,  that  a  month  afterwards,  when  the  Ionian  Islands 
were  invested  by  a  British  squadron,  it  was  surrendered  into  thu 
hands  of  a  sergeant  and  seven  men."  For  a  very  curious  a<y  ount 

8 


8G  CHILDE  HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

Dark  Sappho  !  could  not  verse  immortal  save 
That  breast  imbued  with  such  immortal  fire  ? 
Could  she  not  live  who  life  eternal  gave  ? 
If  life  eternal  may  await  the  lyre,  [aspire. 

That  only  heaven  to  which  Earth's  children  may 

XL. 

'Twas  on  a  Grecian  autumn's  gentle  eve 
Childe  Harold  hail'd  Leucadia's  cape  afar  ;* 
A  spot  he  longed  to  see  nor  cared  to  leave  : 
Oft  did  he  mark  the  scene  of  vanish'd  war, 
Actium,  Lepanto,  fatal  Trafalgar  ;2 
Mark  them  unmoved,  for  he  would  not  delight 
(Born  beneath  some  remote  inglorious  star) 
In  themes  of  bloody  fray,  or  gallant  fight,     [wight. 
But  loath'd  the  bravo's  trade,  and  laughed  at  martial 

XLI. 

But  when  he  saw  the  evening  star  above 
Leucadia's  far  projecting  rock  of  woe, 
And  hail'd  the  last  resort  of  fruitless  love, 
He  felt,  or  deem'd  he  felt, no  common  glow: 
And  as  the  stately  vessel  glided  slow 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  that  ancient  mount, 
He  watched  the  billows'  melancholy  flow, 

of  the  state  of  the  kingdom  of  Ulysses  in  1816,  see  Williams's 
Travels,  vol.  ii.  p.  427.] 

1  Leucadia,  now  Santa  Maura.  From  the  promontory  (the 
Lover's  Leap)  Sappho  is  said  to  have  thrown  herself. — ["  Sept. 
28th,  we  doubled  the  promontory  of  Santa  Maura,  and  saw  the 
precipice  which  the  fate  of  Sappho,  the  poetry  of  Ovid,  and  the 
rocks  so  formidable  to  the  ancient  mariners,  have  made  forever 
memorable." — HOBHOUSE.] 

9  Actium  and  Trafalgar  need  no  further  mention.  The  battle 
of  Lepanto,  equally  bloody  and  considerable,  but  less  known,  was 
fought  in  the  Gulf  of  Patras.  Here  the  author  of  Don  Quixote 
lost  \ns  left  hand. 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  S7 

And,  sunk  albeit  in  thought  as  he  was  wont, 
More  placid  seem'd  his  eye,  and  smooth  his  pallid  front.1 

XLII. 

Morn  dawns ;  and  with  it  stern  Albania's  hills, 
Dark  Suli's  rocks,  and  Pindus'  inland  peak, 
Robed  half  in  mist,  bedew'd  with  snowy  rills, 
Array'd  in  many  a  dun  and  purple  streak, 
Arise ;  and,  as  the  clouds  along  them  break, 
Disclose  the  dwelling  of  the  mountaineer  : 
Here  roams  the  wolf,  the  eagle  whets  his  beak, 
Birds,  beasts  of  prey,  and  wilder  men  appear, 
And  gathering  storms  around  con  v  ulse  the  closing  year. 

XLIII. 

Now  Harold  felt  himself  at  length  alone, 
And  bade  to  Christian  tongues  a  long  adieu  ; 
Now  he  adventured  on  a  shore  unknown, 
Which  all  admire,  but  many  dread  to  view  : 
Hisbreast  was  arm'd  'gainst  fate,  his  wants  were  few, 
Peril  he  sought  not,  but  ne'er  shrank  to  meet : 
The  scene  was  savage,  but  the  scene  was  new  ; 
This  made  the  ceaseless  toil  of  travel  sweet,  [heat. 
Beatbackkeen  winter'sblast,and  welcomed  summer's 

xnv. 

Here  the  red  cross,  for  still  the  cross  is  here, 
Though  sadly  scoff'd  at  by  the  circumcised, 
Forgets  that  pride  to  pamper'd  priesthood  dear  ; 
Churchman  and  votary  alike  despised. 
Foul  Superstition  !  howsoe'er  disguised. 
Idol,  saint,  virgin,  prophet  crescent,  cross, 
For  whatsoever  symbol  thou  art  prized, 
Thou  sacerdotal  gain,  but  general  loss ! 
Who  from  true  worship's  gold  can  separate  thy  dross? 

1  ["  And  roused  him  more  from  thought  than  he  was  wont, 
While  Pleasure  almost  seemed    to   smooth  his  placid 
front."— MS.] 


88  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  11. 

XLV. 

Ambracia's  gulf  behold,  where  once  was  lost 
A  world  for  woman,  lovely,  harmless  thing  ! 
In  yonder  rippling  bay,  their  naval  host 
Did  many  a  Roman  chief  and  Asian  king1 
To  doubtful  conflict,  certain  slaughter  bring : 
Look  where  the  second  Caesar's  trophies  rose  :2 
Now,  like  the  hands  that  rear'd  them,  withering; 
Imperial  anarchs,  doubling  human  woes  ! 
GOD  !  was  thy  globe  ordain'd  for  such  to  win  and  lose  ? 

XLVI. 

From  the  dark  barriers  of  that  rugged  clime, 
Even  to  the  centre  of  Illyria's  vales, 
Childe  Harold  pass'd  o'er  many  a  mount  sublime, 
Through  lands  scarce  noticed  in  historic  tales ; 
Yet  in  famed  Attica  such  lovely  dales 
Are  rarely  seen ;  nor  can  fair  Tempe  boast 
A  charm  they  know  not;  loved  Parnassus  fails, 
Though  classic  ground  and  consecrated  most,  [coast. 
To  match  some  spots  that  lurk  within  this  lowering 

XLVII. 

He  pass'd  bleak  Pindus,  Acherusia's  lake,3 
And  left  the  primal  city  of  the  land, 

1  It  is  said,  that,  on  the  day  previous  to  the  battle  of  Actium, 
Antony  had  thirteen  kings  at  his  levee. — ["  To-day"  (Nov.  12,) 
"  I  saw  the  remains  of  the  town  of  Actium,  near  which  Antony 
lost  the  world,  in  a  small  bay,  where  two  frigates  could  hardly 
manoeuvre :  a  broken  wall  is  the  sole  remnant.  On  another  part 
of  the  gulf  stand  the  ruins  of  Nicopolis,  built  by  Augustus,  in 
honour  of  his  victory." — Lord  Byron  to  his  Mother,  1809.] 

8  Nicopolis,  whose  ruins  are  most  extensive,  is  at  some  distance 
fiom  Actium,  where  the  wall  of  the  Hippodrome  survives  in  a  few 
fragments.  These  ruins  are  large  masses  of  brickwork,  the 
bricks  of  which  are  joined  by  interstices  of  mortar,  as  large  as 
the  oricks  themselves,  and  equally  durable. 

8  According  to  Pouqueville,  the  lake  of  Yanina :  but  Pouque- 
ville  is  always  out. 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  89 

And  onwards  did  his  further  journey  take 

To  greet  Albania's  chief,1  whose  dread  command 

Is  lawless  law  ;  for  with  a  bloody  hand 

He  sways  a  nation,  turbulent  and  bold  : 

Yet  here  and  there  some  daring  mountain-band 

Disdain  his  power,  and  from  their  rocky  hold 

Hurl  their  defiance  far,  nor  yield,  unless  to  gold.2 

XLVIII. 

Monastic  Zitza  !3  from  thy  shady  brow, 
Thou  small  but  favour'd  spot  of  holy  ground  ! 
Where'er  we  gaze,  around,  above,  below, 
What  rainbow  tints,  what  magic  charms  are  found ! 
Rock,  river,  forest,  mountain,  all  abound, 
And  bluest  skies  that  harmonize  the  whole  : 
Beneath,  the  distant  torrent's  rushing  sound 
Tells  where  the  volumed  cataract  doth  roll     [soul. 

Bet  ween  those  hanging  rocks,  that  shock  yet  please  the 

1  The  celebrated  AH  Pasha.  Of  this  extraordinary  man  there 
is  an  incorrect  account  in  Pouqueville's  Travels. — ["  I  left  Malta 
in  the  Spider  brig-of-war,  on  the  21st  of  September,  and  arrived 
in  eight  days  at  Prevesa.  I  thence  have  traversed  the  interior  of 
the  province  of  Albania,  on  a  visit  to  the  pasha,  as  far  as  Tepaleen, 
his  highness's  country  palace,  where  I  stayed  three  days.  The 
name  of  the  pasha  is  Ali,  and  he  is  considered  a  man  of  the  first 
abilities :  he  governs  the  whole  of  Albania,  (the  ancient  Illyricum,) 
Epirus,  and  part  of  Macedonia." — Lord  B.  to  his  Mother."] 

8  Five  thousand  Suliotes,  among  the  rocks  and  in  the  castle  of 
Suli,  withstood  thirty  thousand  Albanians  for  eighteen  years ;  the 
castle  at  last  was  taken  by  bribery.  In  this  contest  there  were 
several  acts  performed  not  unworthy  of  the  better  days  of  Greece. 

8  The  convent  and  village  of  Zitza  are  four  hours' journey  from 
Joannina,  or  Yanina,  the  capital  of  the  pashalick.  In  the  valley 
the  river  Kalamus  (once  the  Acheron)  flows,  and,  not  far  from  Zit- 
za, forms  a  fine  cataract.  The  situation  is  perhaps  the  finest  in 
Greece,  though  the  approach  to  Delvinachi  and  parts  of  Acarnania 
and  jEtolia  may  contest  the  palm.  Delphi,  Parnassus,  and,  hi 
Attica,  even  Cape  Colonna  and  Port  Raphti,  are  very  inferior ;  as 
also  every  scene  in  Ionia,  or  the  Troad :  I  am  almost  inclined  to 
add  the  approach  to  Constantinople  ;  but,  from  the  different  fea 


90  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  II. 

XLIX. 

Amidst  the  grove  that  crowns  yon  tufted  hill, 
Which,  were  it  not  for  many  a  mountain  nigh 
Rising  in  lofty  ranks,  and  loftier  still, 
Might  well  itself  be  deem'd  of  dignity, 
The  convent's  white  walls  glisten  fair  on  high  : 
Here  dwells  the  caloyer,1  nor  rude  is  he, 
Nor  niggard  of  his  cheer  ;  the  passer  by 
Is  welcome  still ;  nor  heedless  will  he  flee 
From  hence,  if  he  delight  kind  Nature's  sheen  to  see. 

L. 

Here  in  the  sultriest  season  let  him  rest, 
Fresh  is  the  green  beneath  those  aged  trees ; 
Here  winds  of  gentlest  wing  will  fan  his  breast, 
From  heaven  itself  he  may  inhale  the  breeze  : 
The  plain  is  far  beneath — oh  !  let  him  seize 
Pure  pleasure  while  he  can :  the  scorching  ray 
Here  pierceth  not,  impregnate  with  disease  : 
Then  let  his  length  the  loitering  pilgrim  lay, 
And  gaze,  untired,  the  morn,  the  noon,  the  eve  away. 

tures  of  the  last,  a  comparison  can  hardly  be  made.  ["  Zitza,'' 
says  the  poet's  companion,  "  is  a  village  inhabited  by  Greek 
peasants.  Perhaps  there  is  not  in  the  world  a  more  romantic 
prospect  than  that  which  is  viewed  from  the  summit  of  the  hill. 
The  foreground  is  a  gentle  declivity,  terminating  on  every  side  in 
an  extensive  landscape  of  green  hills  and  dale,  enriched  with 
vineyards,  and  dotted  with  frequent  flocks."] 

1  The  Greek  monks  are  so  called. — ["  We  went  into  the  mo- 
nastery," says  Mr.  Hobhouse,  "  after  some  parley  with  one  of 
the  monks,  through  a  small  door  plated  with  iron,  on  which  the 
marks  of  violence  were  very  apparent,  and  which,  before  the 
country  had  been  tranquillized  under  the  powerful  government 
of  AH,  had  been  battered  in  vain  by  the  troops  of  robbers  then, 
by  turns,  infesting  every  district.  The  prior,  an  humble,  meek- 
mannered  man,  entertained  us  in  a  warm  chamber  with  grapes, 
and  a  pleasant  white  wine,  not  trodden  out,  as  he  told  us,  by  the 
feet,  but  pressed  from  the  grape  by  the  hand  ;  and  wo  were  so 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  91 

LI. 

Dusky  and  huge,  enlarging  on  the  sight, 
Nature's  volcanic  amphitheatre,1 
Chimsera's  alps  extend  from  left  to  right : 
Beneath  a  living  valley  seems  to  stir ;  [fir 

Flocks  play,  trees  wave,  streams  flow,  the  mountain- 
Nodding  above  ;  behold  black  Acheron  !2 
Once  consecrated  to  the  sepulchre. 
Pluto  !  if  this  be  hell  I  look  upon,  [none. 

Close  shamed  Elysium's  gates,  my  shade  shall  seek  for 

LII. 

Ne  city's  towers  pollute  the  lovely  view  ; 
Unseen  is  Yanina,  though  not  remote, 
Veil'd  by  the  screen  of  hills :  here  men  are  few, 
Scanty  the  hamlet,  rare  the  lonely  cot : 
But,  peering  down  each  precipice,  the  goat 
Browseth ;  and,  pensive  o'er  his  scattered  flock, 
The  little  shepherd  in  his  white  capote3 
Doth  lean  his  boyish  form  along  the  rock, 

Or  in  his  cave  awaits  the  tempest's  short-lived  shock. 

LIU. 

Oh  !  where,  Dodona  !  is  thine  aged  grove, 
Prophetic  fount,  and  oracle  divine  ? 
What  valley  echoed  the  response  of  Jove  ? 
What  trace  remaineth  of  the  Thunderer's  shrine  ? 
All,  all  forgotten — and  shall  man  repine 
That  his  frail  bonds  to  fleeting  life  are  broke  ? 
Cease,  fool !  the  fate  of  gods  may  well  be  thine  : 
Wouldst  thou  survive  the  marble  or  the  oak  ? 

When  nations,  tongues,  and  worlds  must  sink  beneath 
the  stroke  ! 

well  pleased  with  every  thing  about  us,  that  we  agreed  to  lodge 
with  him  on  our  return  from  the  vizier."] 

1  The  Chimariot  mountains  appear  to  have  been  volcanic. 

8  Now  called  Kalamas. 

8  Albanese  cloak. 


92 


CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 


LIV. 

Epirus'  bounds  recede,  and  mountains  fail ; 
Tired  of  up-gazing  still,  the  wearied  eye 
Reposes  gladly  on  as  smooth  a  vale 
As  ever  Spring  yclad  in  grassy  dye  : 
Even  on  a  plain  no  humble  beauties  He, 
Where  some  bold  river  breaks  the  long  expanse, 
And  woods  along  the  banks  are  waving  high, 
Whose  shadows  in  the  glassy  waters  dance,  [trance. 
Or  with  the  moonbeam  sleep  in  midnight's  solemn 

LV. 

The  sun  had  sunk  behind  vast  Tomerit,1 
And  Laos  wide  and  fierce  came  roaring  by  ;2 
The  shades  of  wonted  night  were  gathering  yet, 
When,  down  the  steep  banks  winding  warily, 
Childe  Harold  saw,  like  meteors  in  the  sky, 
The  glittering  minarets  of  Tepalen, 
Whose  walls  o'erlook  the  stream ;  and  drawing  nigh, 
He  heard  the  busy  hum  of  warrior-men        [glen.3 
Swelling  the  breeze  that  sigh'd  along  the  lengthening 

1  Anciently  Mount  Tomarus. 

8  The  river  Laos  was  full  at  the  time  the  author  passed  it; 
and,  immediately  above  Tepaleen,  was  to  the  eye  as  wide  as  the 
Thames  at  Westminster;  at  least  in  the  opinion  of  the  author 
and  his  fellow-traveller.  In  the  summer  it  must  be  much  narrow- 
er. It  certainly  is  the  finest  river  in  the  Levant ;  neither  Ache- 
lous,  Alpheus,  Acheron,  Scamander,  nor  Cayster,  approached  it 
in  breadth  or  beauty. 

3  ["  Ali  Pasha,  hearing  that  an  Englishman  of  rank  was  in  his 
dominions,  left  orders,  in  Yanina,  with  the  command  ant,  to  pro- 
vide a  house,  and  supply  me  with  every  kind  of  necessary  gratis. 
1  rode  out  on  the  vizier's  horses,  and  saw  the  palaces  of  himself 
nnd  grandsons.  I  shall  never  forget  the  singular  scene  on  entering 
Tepaleen,  at  five  in  the  afternoon,  (Oct.  11,)  as  the  sun  was  going 
down.  It  brought  to  my  mind  (with  some  change  of  dress,  how- 
ever) Scott's  description  of  Branksome  Castle  in  his  Lay,  and 
the  feudal  system.  The  Albanians  in  their  dresses  (the  most 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  93 

LVI. 

He  pass'd  the  sacred  harem's  silent  tower, 
And  underneath  the  wide  o'erarching  gate 
Surveyed  the  dwelling  of  this  chief  of  power, 
Where  all  around  proclaim'd  .his  high  estate. 
Amidst  no  common  pomp  the  despot  sate, 
While  busy  preparation  shook  the  court; 
Slaves,  eunuchs,  soldiers,  guests,  and  santons  wait; 
Within  a  palace,  and  without,  a  fort ; 
Here  men  of  every  clime  appear  to  make  resort. 

LVII. 

Richly  caparison'd,  a  ready  row 
Of  armed  horse,  and  many  a  warlike  store, 
Circled  the  wide-extending  court  below ; 
Above,  strange  groups  adorn'd  the  corridore ; 
And  oft-times  through  the  area's  echoing  door, 
Some  high-capp'd  Tartar  spurr'd  his  steed  away: 
The  Turk,  the  Greek,  the  Albanian,  and  the  Moor, 
Here  mingled  in  their  many-hued  array, 
While  the  deep  war-drum's  sound  announced  the  close 
of  day. 

magnificent  in  the  world,  consisting  of  a  long  white  kilt,  gold- 
worked  cloak,  crimson  velvet  gold-laced  jacket  and  waistcoat, 
silver-mounted  pistols  and  daggers  ;)  the  Tartars,  with  their  high 
caps ;  the  Turks  in  their  vast  pelisses  and  turbans  ;  the  soldiers 
and  black  slaves  with  the  horses,  the  former  in  groups,  in  an  im- 
mense large  open  gallery,  in  front  of  the  palace,  the  latter  placed 
in  a  kind  of  cloister  below  it;  two  hundred  steeds  ready  capari- 
soned to  move  in  a  moment ;  couriers  entering  or  passing  out 
with  despatches  ;  the  kettle-drums  beating ;  boys  calling  the  hour 
from  the  minaret  of  the  mosque  ; — altogether,  with  the  singular 
appearance  of  the  building  itself,  formed  a  new  and  delightful 
spectacle  to  a  stranger.  I  was  conducted  to  a  very  handsome 
apartment,  and  my  health  inquired  after  by  the  vizier's  secietary 
a  la  mode  Turque." — Byron  Letters.] 


94  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  II. 

LVIII. 

The  wild  Albanian  kirtled  to  his  knee 
With  shawl-girt  head  and  ornamented  gun, 
The  gold-embroidered  garments,  fair  to  see  j 
The  crimson-scarfed  men  of  Macedon  ; 
The  Delhi  with  his  cap  of  terror  on, 
And  crooked  glaive ;  the  lively,  supple  Greek  j 
And  swarthy  Nubia's  mutilated  son ; 
The  bearded  Turk,  that  rarely  deigns  to  speak, 
Master  of  all  around,  too  potent  to  be  meek, 

LIX. 

Are  mix'd  conspicuous :  some  recline  in  groups, 
Scanning  the  motley  scene  that  varies  round ; 
There  some  grave  Moslem  to  devotion  stoops, 
And  some  that  smoke,  and  some  that  play,  are  found ; 
Here  the  Albanian  proudly  treads  the  ground ; 
Half  whispering  there  the  Greek  is  heard  to  prate  ; 
Hark  !  from  the  mosque  the  nightly  solemn  sound, 
The  Muezzin's  call  doth  shake  the  minaret, 
"  There  is  no  god  but  God  ! — to  prayer — lo  !   God  is 
great  I"1 

LX. 

Just  at  this  season  Ramazani's  fast2 

Through  the  long  day  its  penance  did  maintain : 

1  ["  On  our  arrival  at  Tepaleen,  we  were  lodged  in  the  palace. 
During  the  night  we  were  disturbed  by  the  perpetual  carousal 
which  seemed  to  be  kept  up  in  the  gallery,  and  by  the  drum,  and 
the  voice  of  the  '  Muezzin,'  or  chanter,  calling  the  Turks  to  pray- 
ers from  the  minaret  of  the  mosque  attached  to  the  palace.  The 
chanter  was  a  boy,  and  he  sang  out  his  hymn  in  a  sort  of  loud 
melancholy  recitative.  He  was  a  long  time  repeating  the  purport 
of  these  few  words:  «  God  most  high  !  I  bear  witness  that  there 
is  no  god  but  God,  and  Mahomet  is  his  prophet :  come  to  prayer; 
come  to  the  asylum  of  salvation  :  great  God  !  there  is  no  God  but 
God '" — HOBHOUSE.] 

9  L"  We  were  a  little  unfortunate  in  the  time  we  chose  for 
travelling,  for  it  was  during  the  Ramazan,  or  Turkish  Lent,  which 


„ 


PILGRIMAGE.  95 

But  when  the  lingering  twilight  hour  was  past, 
Revel  and  feast  assumed  the  rule  again  : 
Now  all  was  bustle,  and  the  menial  train 
Prepared  and  spread  the  plenteous  board  within; 
The  vacant  gallery  now  seem'd  made  in  vain, 
But  from  the  chambers  came  the  mingling  din, 
As  page  and  slave  anon  were  passing  out  and  in. 

LXI. 

Here  woman's  voice  is  never  heard  :  apart, 
And  scarce  permitted,  guarded,  veil'd,  to  move, 
She  yields  to  one  her  person  and  her  heart, 
Tamed  to  her  cage,  nor  feels  a  wish  to  rove : 
For,  not  unhappy  in  her  master's  love, 
And  joyful  in  a  mother's  gentlest  cares, 
Blest  cares  !  all  other  feelings  far  above  ! 
Herself  more  sweetly  rears  the  babe  she  bears, 
Who  never  quits  the  breast,  no  meaner  passion  shares 

LXII. 

In  marble-paved  pavilion,  where  a  spring 
Of  living  water  from  the  centre  rose, 
Whose  bubbling  did  a  genial  freshness  fling, 
And  soft  voluptuous  couches  breathed  repose, 
ALI  reclined,  a  man  of  war  and  woes  :* 

fell  this  year  in  October,  and  was  hailed  at  the  rising  of  the  new 
moon,  on  the  evening  of  the  8th,  by  every  demonstration  of  joy : 
but  although,  during  this  month,  the  strictest  abstinence  is  ob- 
served in  the  daytime,  yet  with  the  setting  of  the  sun  the  feasting 
commences :  then  is  the  time  for  paying  and  receiving  visits,  and 
for  the  amusements  of  Turkey,  puppet-shows,  jugglers,  dancers, 
and  story-tellers." — HOBHOUSE.] 

1  ["  On  the  12th,  I  was  introduced  to  Ali  Pasha.  I  was  dressed 
in  a  full  suit  of  staff  uniform,  with  a  very  magnificent  sabre,  &c 
The  vizier  received  me  in  a  large  room  paved  with  marble ;  a 
fountain  was  playing  in  the  centre  ;  the  apartment  was  surrounded 
by  scarlet  ottomans.  He  received  me  standing,  a  wonderful  com- 
pliment from  a  Mussulman,  and  made  me  sit  down  on  his  right 
hand.  His  first  question  was,  why,  at  so  early  an  age,  I  left  my 
country  ?  He  then  said,  the  English  minister,  Captain  Leakc,  had 


96  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

Yet  in  his  lineaments  ye  cannot  trace, 
While  Gentleness  her  milder  radiance  throws 
Along  that  aged  venerable  face,  [grace. 

The  deeds  that  lurk  beneath,  and  stain  him  with  dis- 

LXIII. 

It  is  not  that  yon  hoary  lengthened  beard 
III  suits  the  passions  which  belong  to  youth ; 
Love  conquers  age — so  Hafiz  hath  averr'd, 
So  sings  the  Teian,  and  he  sings  in  sooth — 
But  crimes  that  scorn  the  tender  voice  of  ruth, 
Beseeming  all  men  ill,  but  most  the  man 
In  years,  have  mark'd  him  with  a  tiger's  tooth  ;* 
Blood  follows  blood,  and  through  their  mortal  span, 
In  bloodier  acts  conclude  those  who  with  blood  began.2 

told  him  I  was  of  a  great  family,  and  desired  his  respects  to  my 
mother ;  which  I  now,  in  the  name  of  Ali  Pasha,  present  to  you. 
He  said  he  was  certain  I  was  a  man  of  birth,  because  I  had  small 
ears,  curling  hair,  and  little  white  hands.  He  told  me  to  consider 
him  as  a  father  whilst  I  was  in  Turkey,  and  said  he  looked  on  me 
as  his  own  son.  Indeed,  he  treated  me  like  a  child,  sending  me 
almonds  and  sugared  sherbet,  fruit,  and  sweetmeats,  twenty  times 
a  day.  I  then,  after  coffee  and  pipes,  retired." — B.  to  his  Mother.] 

1  [Mr.  Hobhouse  describes  the  vizier  as  "a  short  man,  about 
five  feet  five  inches  in  height,  and  very  fat ;  possessing  a  very 
pleasing  face,  fair  and  round,  with  blue  quick  eyes,  not  at  all 
settled  into  a  Turkish  gravity."  Dr.  Holland  happily  compares 
the  spirit  which  lurked  under  Ali's  usual  exterior,  as  "  the  fire 
of  a  stove,  burning  fiercely  under  a  smooth  and  polished  surface." 
When  the  doctor  returned  from  Albania,  in  1813,  he  brought  a 
letter  from  the  pasha  to  Lord  Byron.  "  It  is,"  says  the  poet,  "  in 
Latin,  and  begins  '  Excellentissime,  necnon  Carissime,'  and  ends 
about  a  gun  he  wants  made  for  him.  He  tells  me  that,  last  spring, 
he  took  a  town,  a  hostile  town,  where,  forty-two  years  ago,  his 
mother  and  sisters  were  treated  as  Miss  Cunegunde  was  by  the 
Bulgarian  cavalry.  He  takes  the  town,  selects  all  the  survivors 
of  the  exploit — children,  grandchildren,  &c.,  to  the  tune  of  six 
hundred,  and  has  them  shot  before  his  face.  So  much  for  '  dearest 
friend.'  "] 

3  [The  fute  of  Ali  was  precisely  such  as  the  poet  anticipated. 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  97 

LXIV. 

Mid  many  things  most  new  to  ear  and  eye 
The  pilgrim  rested  here  his  weary  feet, 
And  gazed  around  on  Moslem  luxury,1 
Till  quickly  wearied  with  that  spacious  seat 
Of  Wealth  and  Wantonness,  the  choice  retreat 
Of  sated  Grandeur  from  the  city's  noise  : 
And  were  it  humbler  it  in  sooth  were  sweet ; 
But  Peace  abhorreth  artificial  joys,  [destroys. 

And  Pleasure,  leagued  with  Pomp,  the  zest  of  both 

LXV. 

Fierce  are  Albania's  children,  yet  they  lack 
Not  virtues,  were  those  virtues  more  mature. 
Where  is  the  foe  that  ever  saw  their  back  ? 
Who  can  so  well  the  toil  of  war  endure? 
Their  native  fastnesses  not  more  secure 
Than  they  in  doubtful  time  of  troublous  need  : 
Their  wrath  how  deadly !  but  their  friendship  sure, 
When  Gratitude  or  Valour  bids  them  bleed, 
Unshaken  rushing  on  where'er  their  chief  may  lead. 

For  a  circumstantial  account  of  his  assassination,  in  February, 
1822,  see  Walsh's  "Journey  from  Constantinople  to  England," 
p.  60.  His  head  was  sent  to  Constantinople,  and  exhibited  at  the 
gates  of  the  seraglio.  As  the  name  of  AH  had  made  a  cons'derable 
noise  in  England,  in  consequence  of  his  negotiations  with  Sir 
Thomas  Maitland,  and  still  more,  perhaps,  these  stanzas  of  Lord 
Byron,  a  merchant  of  Constantinople  thought  it  would  be  no  bad 
speculation  to  purchase  the  head  and  consign  it  to  a  London 
showman  ;  but  this  scheme  was  defeated  by  the  piety  of  an  old 
servant  of  the  pasha,  who  bribed  the  executioner  with  a  higher 
price,  and  bestowed  decent  sepulture  on  the  relic.] 
1  ["  Childe  Harold  with  the  chief  held  colloquy, 

Yet  what  they  spake  it  boots  not  to  repeat. 

Converse  may  little  charm  strange  ear  or  eye ; 

Alboit  he  rested  in  that  spacious  seat 

Of  Moslem  luxury,"  &c — MS.J 

9 


98  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  II. 

.LXVI. 

Childe  Harold  saw  them  in  their  chieftain's  tower, 
Thronging  to  war  in  splendour  and  success ; 
And  after  viewed  them,  when,  within  their  power, 
Himself  a  while  the  victim  of  distress; 
That  saddening  hour  when  bad  men  hotlier  press: 
But  these  did  shelter  him  beneath  their  roof, 
When  less  barbarians  would  have  cheer'd  him  less, 
And  fellow-countrymen  have  stood  aloof1 — 
In  aught  that  tries  the  heart  how  few  withstand  the 
proof ! 

LXVII. 

It  chanced  that  adverse  winds  once  drove  his  bark 
Full  on  the  coast  of  Suli's  shaggy  shore, 
When  all  around  was  desolate  and  dark  ; 
To  land  was  perilous,  to  sojourn  more ; 
Yet  for  a  while  the  mariners  forbore, 
Dubious  to  trust  where  treachery  might  lurk  : 
At  length  they  ventured  forth,  though  doubting  sore 
That  those  who  loathe  alike  the  Frank  and  Turk 
Might  once  again  renew  their  ancient  butcher-work. 

LXVIII. 

Vain  fear!  the  Suliotes  stretch'd  the  welcome  hand, 
Led  them  o'er  rocks  and  past  the  dangerous  swamp, 
Kinder  than  polish 'd  slaves,  though  not  so  bland, 
And  piled  the  hearth,  and  wrung  their  garments 

damp, 

And  fill'd  the  bowl,  and  trimm'dthe  cheerful  lamp. 
And  spread  their  fare ;  though  homely,  all  they  had: 
Such  conduct  bears  Philanthropy's  rare  stamp — 
To  rest  the  weary  and  to  soothe  the  sad, 
Doth  lesson  happier  men,  and  shames  at  least  the  bad. 

1  Alludincj,t,o  the  wreckers  of  Cornwall. 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  99 

LXIX. 

It  came  to  pass,  that  when  he  did  address 
Himself  to  quit  at  length  this  mountain-land, 
Combined  marauders  halfway  barr'd  egress, 
And  wasted  far  and  near  with  glaive  and  brand ; 
And  therefore  did  he  take  a  trusty  band 
To  traverse  Acarnania's  forest  wide, 
In  war  well  season'd,  and  with  labours  tann'd, 
Till  he  did  greet  white  Achelous'  tide, 
And  from  his  further  bank  ^Etolia's  wolds  espied. 

LXX. 

Where  lone  Utraikey  forms  its  circling  cove, 
And  weary  waves  retire  to  gleam  at  rest, 
How  brown  the  foliage  of  the  green  hill's  grove, 
Nodding  at  midnight  o'er  the  calm  bay's  breast, 
As  winds  come  lightly  whispering  from  the  west, 
Kissing,  not  ruffling,  the  blue  deep's  serene  : — 
Here  Harold  was  received  a  welcome  guest ; 
Nor  did  he  pass  unmoved  the  gentle  scene,    [glean. 

For  many  a  joy  could  he  from  Night's  soft  presence 

LXXI. 

On  the  smooth  shore  the  night-fires  brightly  blazed, 
The  feast  was  done,  the  red  wine  circling  fast,1 
And  he  that  unawares  had  there  ygazed, 
With  gaping  wonderment  had  stared  aghast; 
For  ere  night's  midmost,  stillest  hour  was  past, 
The  native  revels  of  the  troop  began ; 
Each  Palikar2  his  sabre  from  him  cast, 
And  bounding  hand  in  hand,  man  link'd  to  man, 

Yelling  their  uncouth  dirge,  long  daunced  the  kirtled 
clan.3 

1  The  Albanian  Mussulmans  do  not  abstain  from  wine,  and, 
indeed,  very  few  of  the  others. 

a  Palikar,  shortened  when  addressed  to  a  single  person,  from 
naXcrapt,  a  general  name  for  a  soldier  amongst  the  Greeks  and 
Albanese  who  speak  Romaic  :  it  means,  properly,  "  a  lad." 

•  [The  following  is  Mr.  Hobhouse's  animated  description  of 


JOO  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

LXXII. 

Childe  Harold  at  a  little  distance  stood, 
And  view'd,  but  not  displeased,  the  revelrie, 
Nor  hated  harmless  mirth,  however  rude  : 
In  sooth  it  was  no  vulgar  sight  to  see 
Their  barbarous,  yet  their  not  indecent,  glee  ; 
And,  as  the  flames  along  their  faces  gleam'd, 
Their  gestures  nimble,  dark  eyes  flashing  free, 
The  long  wild  locks  that  to  their  girdles  streamed, 
While  thus  in  concert  they  this  lay  half  sang,  half 

screamed : — l 

this  scene : — "  In  the  evening  the  gates  were  secured,  and  pre- 
parations were  made  for  feeding  our  Albanians.  A  goat  was  killed 
and  roasted  whole,  and  four  fires  were  kindled  in  the  yard,  round 
which  the  soldiers  seated  themeelves  in  parties.  After  eating  and 
drinking,  the  greatest  part  of  them  assembled  round  the  largest 
of  the  fires,  and  whilst  ourselves  and  the  elders  of  the  party  were 
seated  on  the  ground,  danced  round  the  blaze,  to  their  own  songs, 
with  astonishing  energy.  All  their  songs  were  relations  of  some 
robbing  exploits.  One  of  them,  which  detained  them  more  than 
an  hour,  began  thus  — '  When  we  set  out  from  Parga,  there  were 
sixty  of  us :'  then  came  the  burden  of  the  verse, — 

'Robbers  all  at  Parga! — Robbers  all  at  Parga!' 

lK.\c<j>rtis  nors  Hapya'. — KXe</>r£i£  TTOTS  Ilapyal' 

and,  as  they  roared  out  this  stave,  they  whirled  round  the  fire, 
dropped,  and  rebounded  from  their  knees,  and  again  whirled  round, 
as  the  chorus  was  again  repeated.  The  rippling  of  the  waves  upon 
the  pebbly  margin  where  we  were  seated,  filled  up  the  pauses  of  the 
song  with  a  milder,  and  not  more  monotonous  music.  The  night 
was  very  dark ;  but,  by  the  flashes  of  the  fires,  we  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  woods,  the  rocks,  and  the  lake,  which,  together  with  the  wild 
appearance  of  the  dancers,  presented  us  with  a  scene  that  would 
have  made  a  fine  picture  in  the  hands  of  such  an  artist  as  the  author 
of  the  Mysteries  of  Udolpho.  As  we  were  acquainted  with  the 
character  of  the  Albanians,  it  did  not  at  all  diminish  our  pleasure  to 
know,  that  every  one  of  our  guard  had  been  robbers,  and  some  of 
them  a  very  short  time  before.  It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  we 
had  retired  to  our  room,  at  which  time  the  Albanians,  wrapping 
themselves  up  in  their  capotes,  went  to  sleep  round  the  fires."] 

1  [For  a  specimen  of  the  Albanian  or  Arnaout  dialect  of  the 
Jllyric,  see  Appendix,  Note  [C].] 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  101 

1. 

TAMBOURGI  !  Tambourgi  i1  thy  'larurn  afar 
Gives  hope  to  the  valiant,  and  promise  of  war ; 
All  the  sons  of  the  mountains  arise  at  the  note, 
Chimariot,  Illyrian,  and  dark  Suliote  !2 

2. 

Oh  !  who  is  more  brave  than  a  dark  Suliote, 

In  his  snowy  camese  and  his  shaggy  capote  ? 

To  the  wolf  and  the  vulture  he  leaves  his  wild  flock, 

And  descends  to  the  plain  like  the  stream  from  the  rock. 

3. 

Shall  the  sons  of  Chimari,  who  never  forgive 
The  fault  of  a  friend,  bid  an  enemy  live  ? 
Let  those  guns  so  unerring  such  vengeance  forego  ? 
What  mark  is  so  fair  as  the  breast  of  a  foe  ? 

4. 

Macedonia  sends  forth  her  invincible  race ; 
For  a  time  they  abandon  the  cave  and  the  chase  : 
But  those  scarfs  of  blood-red  shall  be  redder,  before 
The  sabre  is  sheathed  and  the  battle  is  o'er. 

5. 

Then  the  pirates  of  Parga  that  dwell  by  the  waves, 
And  teach  the  pale  Franks  what  it  is  to  be  slaves, 
Shall  leave  on  the  beach  the  long  galley  and  oar, 
And  track  to  his  covert  the  captive  on  shore. 

6. 

I  ask  not  the  pleasures  that  riches  supply, 
My  sabre  shall  win  what  the  feeble  must  buy ; 
Shall  win  the  young  bride  with  her  long  flowing  hair, 
And  many  a  maid  from  her  mother  shall  tear. 

1  Drummer. 

a  These  stanzas  are  partly  taken  from  different  Albanese 
songs,  as  far  as  I  was  able  to  make  them  out  by  the  exposition 
of  the  Albanese  in  Romaic  and  Italian. 


lo-J  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

7. 

1  love  the  fair  face  of  the  maid  in  her  youth, 
Her  caresses  shall  lull  me,  her  music  shall  soothe  ; 
Let  her  bring  from  the  chamber  her  many-toned  lyre, 
And  sing  us  a  song  on  the  fall  of  her  sire. 

8. 

Remember  the  moment  when  Previsa  fell,1 
The  shrieks  of  the  conquer'd,  the  conquerors'  yell ; 
The  roofs  that  we  fired,  and  the  plunder  we  shared, 
The  wealthy  we  slaughter'd,  the  lovely  we  spared. 

9. 

I  talk  not  of  mercy,  I  talk  not  of  fear ; 
He  neither  must  know  who  would  serve  the  vizier  : 
Since  the  days  of  our  prophet  the  Crescent  ne'er  saw 
A  chief  ever  glorious  like  Ali  Pasha w. 

10. 

Dark  Muchtar  his  son  to  the  Danube  is  sped, 
Let  the  yellow-hair'd2  Giaours3  view  his  horsetail4 

with  dread. 

When  his  Delhis5  come  dashing  in  blood  o'er  the  banks, 
How  few  shall  escape  from  the  Muscovite  ranks  ! 

11. 

Selictar  !a  unsheathe  then  our  chief's  scimitar : 
Tambourgi !  thy  'larum  gives  promise  of  war. 
Ye  mountains,  that  see  us  descend  to  the  shore, 
Shall  view  us  as  victors,  or  view  us  no  more  ! 

1  It  was  taken  by  storm  from  the  French. 

*  Yellow  is  the  epithet  given  to  the  Russians. 
8  Infidel. 

4  The  insignia  of  a  pasha. 

5  Horsemen,  answering  to  our  forlorn  hope. 

•  Sword-bearer. 


CANTO  II.  P  I  L  G  R  I  M  A  G  E.  103 


LXXIII. 


Fair  Greece  !  sad  relic  of  departed  worth  ! 


Immortal,  though  no  more  ;  though  fallen  great ! 
Who  now  shall  lead  thy  scattered  children  forth, 
And  long  accustom'd  bondage  uncreate  ? 
Not  such  thy  sons  who  whilome  did  await, 
The  hopeless  warriors  of  a  willing  doom, 
In  bleak  Thermopylae's  sepulchral  strait — 
Oh  !  who  that  gallant  spirit  shall  resume, 
Leap  from  Euro  las' banks,  and  call  thee  from  the  tomb? 

LXXIV. 

Spirit  of  freedom  !  when  on  Phyle's  brow2 
Thou  sat'st  with  Thrasybulus  and  his  train, 
Couldst  thoti  forbode  the  dismal  hour  which  now 
Dims  the  green  beauties  of  thine  Attic  plain? 
Not  thirty  tyrants  now  enforce  the  chain, 
But  every  carle  can  lord  it  o'er  thy  land  j 
Nor  rise  thy  sons,  but  idly  rail  in  vain, 
Trembling  beneath  the  scourge  of  Turkish  hand ; 
From  birth  till  death  enslaved;  in  word,  in  deed,  un- 
mann'd. 

LXXV*. 

In  all  save  form  alone,  how  changed  !  and  who 
That  marks  the  fire  still  sparkling  in  each  eye, 
Who  but  would  deem  their  bosoms  burn'd  anew 
With  thy  unquenched  beam,  lost  Liberty  ! 
And  many  dream  withal  the  hour  is  nigh 
That  gives  them  back  their  fathers'  heritage : 
For  foreign  arms  and  aid  they  fondly  sigh, 
Nor  solely  dare  encounter  hostile  rage,         [page. 
Or  tear  their  name  defiled  from  Slavery's  mournful 

1  Some  Thoughts  on  the  present  state  of  Greece  and  Turkey 
will  be  found  in  the  Appendix,  Notes  [D]  and  [E]. 

*  Phyle,  which  commands  a  beautiful  view  of  Athens,  has  still 
considerable  remains:  it  was  seized  bv Thrasybulus,  previous  t& 
the  expulsion  of  the  Thirty. 


104  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

LXXVI. 

Hereditary  bondsmen  !  know  ye  not 
Who  would  be  free  themselves  muststrikethebiow? 
By  their  right  arms  the  conquest  must  be  wrought? 
Will  Gaul  or  Muscovite  redress  ye  ?  no  ! 
True,  they  may  lay  your  proud  despoilers  low, 
But  not  for  you  will  Freedom's  altars  flame. 
Shades  of  the  Helots  !  triumph  o'er  your  foe! 
Greece !  change  thy  lords,  thy  state  is  still  the  same, 
Thy  glorious  day  is  o'er,  but  not  thine  years  of  shame. 

LXXVII. 

The  city  won  for  Allah  from  the  Giaour, 
The  Giaour  from  Othman's  race  again  may  wrest; 
And  the  serai's  impenetrable  tower 
Receive  the  fiery  Frank,  her  former  guest  ;* 
Or  Wahab's  revel  brood  who  dared  divest 
The  prophet's2  tomb  of  all  its  pious  spoil, 
May  wind  their  path  of  blood  along  the  West ; 
But  ne'er  will  freedom  seek  this  fated  soil, 
But  slave  succeed  to  slave  through  years  of  endless  toil. 

LXXVIII. 

Yet  mark  their  mirth — ere  lenten  days  begin 
That  penance  which  their  holy  rites  prepare 
To  shrive  from  man  his  weight  of  mortal  sin, 
By  daily  abstinence  and  nightly  prayer ; 
But  ere  his  sackcloth  garb  Repentance  wear, 
Some  days  of  joyaunce  are  decreed  to  all, 
To  take  of  pleasaunce  each  his  secret  share, 
In  motley  robe  to  dance  at  masking  ball, 
And  join  the  mimic  train  of  merry  Carnival. 

1  When  taken  by  the  Latins,  and  retained  for  several  years. 
8  Mecca  and  Medina  were  taken  some  time  ago  by  the  W«i- 
habees,  a  sect  yearly  increasing. 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  105 

LXXIX. 

And  whose  more  rife  with  merriment  than  thine, 
Oh  Stamboul  I1  once  the  empress  of  their  reign  ? 
Though  turbans  now  pollute  Sophia's  shrine, 
And  Greece  her  very  altars  eyes  in  vain : 
(Alas  !  her  woes  will  still  pervade  my  strain  !) 
Gay  were  her  minstrels  once,  for  free  her  throng, 
All  felt  the  common  joy  they  now  must  feign, 
Nor  oft  I've  seen  such  sights,  nor  heard  such  song, 
As  woo'd  the  eye,  and  thrill'd  the  Bosphorus  along.2 

1  [Of  Constantinople  Lord  Byronsays, — "Ihave  seen  the  ruins 
of  Athens,  of  Ephesus,  and  Delhi ;  I  have  traversed  great  part  of 
Turkey  and  many  other  parts  of  Europe,  and  some  of  Asia ;  but 
I  never  beheld  a  work  of  nature  or  art  which  yielded  an  impression 
like  the  prospect  on  each  side,  from  the  Seven  Towers  to  the  end 
of  the  Golden  Horn."] 

3  ["  The  view  of  Constantinople,"  says  Mr.  Rose,  "  which  ap- 
peared intersected  by  groves  of  cypress,  (for  such  is  the  effect  of  its 
great  burial-grounds  planted  with  these  trees,)  its  gilded  domes  and 
minarets  reflecting  the  first  rays  of  the  sun ;  the  deep  blue  sea  '  in 
which  it  glassed  itself,'  and  that  sea  covered  with  beautiful  boats 
and  barges  darting  in  every  direction  in  perfect  silence,  amid  sea- 
fowl,  who  sat  at  rest  upon  the  waters,  altogether  conveyed  such  an 
impression  as  I  had  never  received,  and  probably  never  shall  again 
receive,  from  the  view  of  any  other  place."    The  following  sonnet, 
by  the  same  author,  has  been  so  often  quo  ted,  that,  but  for  its  exqui- 
site beauty,  we  should  not  have  ventured  to  reprint  it  here:— 
*«  A  glorious  form  thy  shining  city  wore, 
Mid  cypress  thickets  of  perennial  green, 
With  minaret  and  golden  dome  between, 
While  thy  sea  softly  kiss'd  its  grassy  shore : 
Darting  across  whose  blue  expanse  was  seen 
Of  sculptured  barks  and  galleys  many  a  score  ; 
Whence  noise  was  none  save  that  of  plashing  oar ; 
Nor  word  was  spoke,  to  break  the  calm  serene. 
Unheard  is  whisker'd  boatman's  hail  or  joke ; 

Who,  mute  as  Sinbad's  man  of  copper,  rows. 
And  only  intermits  the  sturdy  stroke, 
When  fearless  gull  too  nigh  his  pinnace  goes. 

I,  hardly  conscious  if  I  dream'd  or  woke, 
Mark'd  that  strange  piece  of  action  and  repose."] 


106  CHILDE  HAROLD'S          CANTO  II. 

LXXX. 

Loud  was  the  lightsome  tumult  on  the  shore, 
Oft  Music  changed,  but  never  ceased  her  tone, 
And  timely  echo'd  back  the  measured  oar, 
And  rippling  waters  made  a  pleasant  moan  : 
The  queen  of  tides  on  high  consenting  shone, 
And  when  a  transient  breeze  swept  o'er  the  wave, 
'Twas,  as  if  darting  from  her  heavenly  throne, 
A  brighter  glance  her  form  reflected  gave, 
Till  sparkling  billows  seem'd  to  light  the  banks  they 
lave. 


LXXXI. 

Glanced  many  a  light  caique  along  the  foam, 
Danced  on  the  shore  the  daughters  of  the  land, 
Ne  thought  had  man  or  maid  of  rest  or  home, 
While  many  a  languid  eye  and  thrilling  hand 
Exchanged  the  look  few  bosoms  may  withstand, 
Or  gently  press'd,  return'd  the  pressure  still  : 
Oh  Love  !  young  Love  !  bound  in  thy  rosy  band, 
Let  sage  or  cynic  prattle  as  he  will, 
These  hours,  and  only  these,  redeem  Life's  years 
of  ill! 

LXXXII. 

But,  midst  the  throng  in  merry  masquerade, 
Lurk  there  no  hearts  that  throb  with  secret  pain, 
Even  through  the  closest  searment  half  betray'd  ? 
To  such  the  gentle  murmurs  of  the  main 
Seem  to  re-echo  all  they  mourn  in  vain  ; 
To  such  the  gladness  of  the  gamesome  crowd 
Is  source  of  wayward  thought  and  stern  disdain : 
How  do  they  loathe  the  laughter  idly  loud, 
And  long  to  change  the  robe  of  revel  for  the  shroud ! 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  107 

LXXXIII. 

Thi's  must  he  feel,  the  true-born  son  ot  Greece, 
If  Greece  one  true-born  patriot  still  can  boast : 
Not  such  as  prate  of  war,  but  skulk  in  peace, 
The  bondsman's  peace,  who  sighs  for  all  he  lost, 
Yet  with  smooth  smile  his  tyrant  can  accost, 
And  wield  the  slavish  sickle,  not  the  sword  : 
Ah !  Greece !  they  love  thee  least  who  owe  thee  most ; 
Their  birth,  their  blood,  and  that  sublime  record 
Of  hero  sires,  who  shame  thy  now  degenerate  horde  I 

LXXXIV. 

When  riseth  Lacedemon's  hardihood, 
When  Thebes  Epaminondas  rears  again, 
When  Athens'  children  are  with  hearts  endued, 
When  Grecian  mothers  shall  give  birth  to  men, 
Then  mayst  thou  be  restored  ;  but  not  till  then. 
A  thousand  years  scarce  serve  to  form  a  state  ; 
An  hour  may  lay  it  in  the  dust :  and  when 
Can  man  its  shatter'd  splendour  renovate, 
Recall  its  virtues  back,  and  vanquish  Time  and  Fate  ? 

LXXXV. 

And  yet  how  lovely  in  thine  age  of  woe, 
Land  of  lost  gods  and  godlike  men,  art  thou  ! 
Thy  vales  of  evergreen,  thy  hills  of  snow,1 
Proclaim  thee  Nature's  varied  favourite  now : 
Thy  fanes,  thy  temples  to  thy  surface  bow, 
Commingling  slowly  with  heroic  earth, 
Broke  by  the  share  of  every  rustic  plough  : 
So  perish  monuments  of  mortal  birth, 
So  perish  all  in  turn,  save  well-recorded  Worth ; 

1  On  many  of  the  mountains,  particularly  Liakura,  the  snow 
never  is  entirely  melted,  notwithstanding  the  intense  heat  of  ilia 
mmmer;  but  I  never  saw  it  lie  on  the  plains,  even  in 


108  CIIILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  II 

LXXXVI. 

Save  where  some  solitary  column  mourns 
Above  its  prostrate  brethren  of  the  cawe;1 
Save  where  Tritonia's  airy  shrine  adorns 
Colonna's  cliff',2  and  gleams  along  the  wave ; 
Save  o'er  some  warrior's  half-forgotten  grave, 
Where  the  gray  stones  and  unmolested  grass 
Ages,  but  not  oblivion,  feebly  brave, 
While  strangers  only  not  regardless  pass, 
Lingering  like  me,  perchance,  to   gaze,  and  sigh 
"Alas!" 

1  Of  Mount  Pentelicus,  from  whence  the  marble  was  dug  that 
constructed  the  public  edifices  of  Athens.  The  modern  name  is 
Mount  Mendeli.  An  immense  cave,  formed  by  the  quarries,  still 
remains,  and  will  till  the  end  of  time. 

a  In  all  Attica,  if  we  except  Athens  itself  and  Marathon,  there  is 
no  scene  more  interesting  than  Cape  Colonna.  To  the  antiquary 
and  artist,  sixteen  columns  are  an  inexhaustible  source  of  observa- 
tion and  design ;  to  the  philosopher,  the  supposed  scene  of  some 
of  Plato's  conversations  will  not  be  unwelcome;  and  the  traveller 
will  be  struck  with  the  beauty  of  the  prospect  over  "  Isles  that 
crown  the  ^Egean  deep :"  but,  for  an  Englishman,  Colonna  has 
yet  an  additional  interest,  as  the  actual  spot  of  Falconer's  Ship- 
wreck. Pallas  and  Plato  are  forgotten,  in  the  recollection  of 
Falconer  and  Campbell : — 

"  Here  in  the  dead  of  night  by  Lonna's  steep, 

The  seaman's  cry  was  heard  along  the  deep." 
This  temple  of  Minerva  may  be  seen  at  sea  from  a  great  distance. 
In  two  journeys  which  I  made,  and  one  voyage  to  Cape  Colonna, 
the  view  from  either  side,  by  land,  was  less  striking  than  the  ap- 
proach from  the  isles.  In  our  second  land  excursion,  we  had  a 
narrow  escape  from  a  party  of  Mainotes,  concealed  in  the  caverns 
F'oueath.  We  were  told  afterwards,  by  one  of  their  prisoners,  sub- 
sequently ransomed,  that  they  were  deterred  from  attacking  us  by 
the;  appearance  of  my  two  Albanians :  conjecturing  very  sagacious- 
ly, but  falsely,  that  we  had  a  complete  guard  of  these  Arnaouts 
at  hand,  they  remained  stationary,  and  thus  saved  our  party, 
wliinh  was  too  small  to  have  opposed  any  effectual  resistance, 
('i-lopna  is  no  less  a  resort  of  painters  than  of  pirates ;  there 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  109 

LXXXVII. 

Yet  are  thy  skies  as  blue,  thy  crags  as  wild  ; 
Sweet  are  thy  groves,  and  verdant  are  thy  fields, 
Thine  olive  ripe  as  when  Minerva  smiled, 
And  still  his  honied  wealth  Hymettus  yields ; 
There  the  blithe  bee  his  fragrant  fortress  builds, 
The  freeborn  wanderer  of  thy  mountain-air; 
Apollo  still  thy  long,  long  summer  gilds, 
Still  in  his  beam  Mendeli's  marbles  glare ; 
Art,  Glory,  Freedom  fail,  but  Nature  still  is  fair.1 

LXXXVIII. 

Where'er  we  tread  'tis  haunted,  holy  ground ; 
No  earth  of  thine  is  lost  in  vulgar  mould, 
But  one  vast  realm  of  wonder  spreads  around, 
And  all  the  Muse's  tales  seem  truly  told, 
Till  the  sense  aches  with  gazing  to  behold 
The  scenes  our  earliest  dreams  have  dwelt  upon  : 
Each  hill  and  dale,  each  deepening  glen  and  wold 
Defies  the  power  which  crush'd  thy  temples  gone: 
Age  shakes  Athena'stower,but  spares  gray  Marathon. 


"  The  hireling  artist  plants  his  paltry  desk, 
And  makes  degraded  nature  picturesque." 

(See  Hodgson's  Lady  Jane  Grey,  &c.) 

But  there  Nature,  with  the  aid  of  Art,  has  done  that  for  herself. 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  engage  a  very  superior  German  artist ; 
and  hope  to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  this  and  many  other 
Levantine  scenes,  by  the  arrival  of  his  performances. 

1  [The  following  passage,  in  Harris's  Philosophical  Inqui- 
ries, contains  the  pith  of  this  stanza : — "  Notwithstanding  the 
various  fortunes  of  Athens,  as  a  city,  Attica  is  still  famous  for 
olives,  and  Mount  Hymettus  for  honey.  Human  institutions 
perish,  but  Nature  is  permanent."  I  recollect  having  once 
pointed  out  this  coincidence  to  Lord  Byron,  but  he  assured  me 
that  he  had  never  seen  this  work  of  Harris. — MOORE.] 
10 


HO  C  HILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  II. 

LXXXIX. 

The  sun,  the  soil,  but  not  the  slave,  the  same  ; 
Unchanged  in  all  except  its  foreign  lord — 
Preserves  alike  its  bounds  and  boundless  fame 
The  battle-field,  where  Persia's  victim  horde 
First  b9\v'd  beneath  the  brunt  of  Hellas'  sword, 
As  on  the  morn  to  distant  Glory  dear, 
When  Marathon  became  a  magic  word  j1 
Which  uttered,  to  the  hearer's  eye  appear 
The  camp,  the  host,  the  fight,  the  conqueror's  career. 

xc. 

The  flying  Mede,  his  shaftless  broken  bow ; 
The  fiery  Greek,  his  red  pursuing  spear  ; 
Mountains  above,  Earth's,  Ocean's  plain  below  ; 
Death  in  the  front,  Destruction  in  the  rear  ! 
Such  was  the  scene — what  now  remaineth  here  ? 
What  sacred  trophy  marks  the  hallow'd  ground, 
Recording  Freedom's  smile  and  Asia's  tear  ? 
The  rifled  urn,  the  violated  mound, 
The  dust  thy  courser's  hoof,  rude  stranger !  spurns 
around. 

xci. 

Yet  to  the  remnants  of  thy  splendour  past 
Shall  pilgrims,  pensive,  but  unwearied,  throng  ; 

1  "  Siste  Viator — heroa  calcas !"  was  the  epitaph  on  the  famous 
Count  Merci; — what  then  must  be  our  feelings  when  standing  on 
the  tumulus  of  the  two  hundred  (Greeks)  who  fell  on  Marathon  ? 
The  principal  barrow  has  recently  been  opened  by  Fauvel :  few 
or  no  relics,  as  vases,  &c.  were  found  by  the  excavator.  The 
plain  of  Marathon  was  offered  to  me  for  sale  at  the  sum  of  sixteen 
thousand  piastres,  about  nine  hundred  pounds  !  Alas ! — "  Ex- 
pende — quot  libras  in  duce  summo — invenies  !" — was  the  dust 
of  Miltiades  worth  no  morel  It  could  scarcely  have  fetched  less 
'f  sold  by  weight. 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  Ill 

Long  shall  the  voyager,  with  th'  Ionian  blast, 
Hail  the  bright  clime  of  battle  and  of  song; 
Long  shall  thine  annals  and  immortal  tongue 
Fill  with  thy  fame  the  youth  of  many  a  shore; 
Boast  of  the  aged  !  lesson  of  the  young! 
Which  sages  venerate  and  bards  adore, 
As  Pallas  and  the  Muse  unveil  their  awful  lore. 

XCII. 

The  parted  bosom  clings  to  wonted  home, 
If  aught  that's  kindred  cheer  the  welcome  hearth  j 
He  that  is  lonely,  hither  let  him  roam, 
And  gaze  complacent  on  congenial  earth. 
Greece  is  no  lightsome  land  of  social  mirth : 
But  he  whom  Sadness  sootheth  may  abide, 
And  scarce  regret  the  region  of  his  birth, 
When  wandering  slow  by  Delphi's  sacred  side, 
Or  gazing  o'er  the  plains  where  Greek  and  Persian 
died.1 

xcm. 

Let  such  approach  this  consecrated  land, 
And  pass  in  peace  along  the  magic  waste ; 
But  spare  its  relics — let  no  busy  hand 
Deface  the  scenes,  already  how  defaced  ! 
Not  for  such  purpose  were  these  altars  placed  : 
Revere  the  remnants  nations  once  revered  : 
So  may  our  country's  name  be  undisgraced, 
So  mayst  thou  prosper  where  thy  youth  was  rear'd, 
By  every  honest  joy  of  love  and  life  endear'd ! 

xciv. 

For  thee,  who  thus  in  too  protracted  song 
Hast  soothed  thine  idlesse  with  inglorious  lays, 

1  £The  original  MS.  closes  with  this  stanza.    The  rest  was 
added  while  the  canto  was  passing  through  the  press.] 


112  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  II. 

Soon  shall  thy  voice  be  lost  amid  the  throng 
Of  louder  minstrels  in  these  later  days  : 
To  such  resign  the  strife  for  fading  bays — 
III  may  such  contest  now  the  spirit  move 
Which  heeds  nor  keen  reproach  nor  partial  praise, 
Since  cold  each  kinder  heart  that  might  approve, 
And  none  are  left  to  please  where  none  are  left  to  love. 

xcv. 

Thou  too  art  gone,  thou  loved  and  lovely  one  ! 
Whom  youth  and  youth's  affections  bound  to  me  ; 
Who  did  for  me  what  none  beside  have  done, 
Nor  shrank  from  one  albeit  unworthy  thee. 
What  is  my  being  ?  thou  hast  ceased  to  be  ! 
Nor  stay'd  to  welcome  here  thy  wanderer  home, 
Who  mourns  o'er  hours  which  we  no  more  shall  see — • 
Would  they  had  never  been,  or  were  to  come  ! 
Would  he  hadne'erreturn'dto  find  fresh  cause  to  roam! 

xcvi. 

Oh  !  ever  loving,  lovely,  and  beloved ! 
How  selfish  Sorrow  ponders  on  the  past, 
And  clings  to  thoughts  now  better  far  removed  ! 
But  Time  shall  tear  thy  shadow  from  me  last. 
All  thou  couldst  have  of  mine,  stem  Death  !  thou 

hast; 

The  parent,  friend,  and  now  the  more  than  friend  : 
Ne'er  yet  for  one  thine  arrows  flew  so  fast, 
And  grief  with  grief  continuing  still  to  blend, 
Hath  snatch'd  the  little  joy  that  life  had  yet  to  lend 

XCVII. 

Then  must  I  plunge  again  into  the  crowd, 
And  follow  all  that  Peace  disdains  to  seek  ? 
Where  Revel  calls,  and  Laughter,  vainly  loud, 
False  to  the  heart,  distorts  the  hollow  cheek, 


CANTO  II.  PILGRIMAGE.  113 

To  leave  the  flagging  spirit  doubly  weak ; 
Still  o'er  the  features,  which  perforce  they  cheer, 
To  feign  the  pleasure  or  conceal  the  pique ; 
Smiles  form  the  channel  of  a  future  tear, 
Or  raise  the  writhing  lip  with  ill-dissembled  sneer. 

XCVIII. 

What  is  the  worst  of  woes  that  wait  on  age  ? 
What  stamps  the  wrinkle  deeper  on  the  brow  ? 
To  view  each  loved  one  blotted  from  life's  page, 
And  be  alone  on  earth,  as  I  am  now.1 
Before  the  Chastener  humbly  let  me  bow, 
O'er  hearts  divided  and  o'er  hopes  destroyed : 
Roll  on,  vain  days  !  full  reckless  may  ye  flow, 
Since  Time  hath  reft  whate'er  my  soul  enjoy'd, 
And  with  the  ills  of  Eld  mine  earlier  years  alloy'd. 

1  [This  stanza  was  written  October  11, 1811 ;  upon  which  day 
the  poet,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  says, — "  I  have  been  again  shocked 
with  a  death,  and  have  lost  one  very  dear  to  me  in  happier  times ; 
but « I  have  almost  forgot  the  taste  of  grief,'  and  '  supped  full  of 
horrors'  till  I  have  become  callous,  nor  have  I  a  tear  left  for  an  event 
which,  five  years  ago,  would  have  bowed  down  my  head  to  the 
earth.  It  seems  as  though  I  were  to  experience  in  my  youth  the 
greatest  misery  of  age.  My  friends  fall  around  me,  and  I  shall 
be  left  a  lonely  tree  before  I  am  withered.  Other  men  can  always 
take  refuge  in  their  families :  I  have  no  resource  but  my  own  re- 
flections, and  they  present  no  prospect  here  or  hereafter,  except 
the  selfish  satisfaction  of  surviving  my  friends.  I  am  indeed  very 
wretched,  and  you  will  excuse  my  saying  so,  as  you  know  I  am 
not  apt  to  cant  of  sensibility."  In  reference  to  this  stanza, 
"  Surely,"  said  Professor  Clarke  to  the  author  of  the  "  Pursuits 
of  Literature,"  "  Lord  Byron  cannot  have  experienced  such  keen 
anguish  as  these  exquisite  allusions  to  what  older  men  may  have 
felt  seem  to  denote." — "  I  fear  he  has,"  answered  Matthias ; 
*'  he  could  not  otherwise  have  written  such  a  poem."] 
10* 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE. 


CANTO    THE    THIRD. 


"Afin  que  cette  application  vous  format  de  penser  a  autre 
chose ;  il  n'y  a  en  verite  de  remede  que  celui-la  et  le  temps."— 
Lettre  du  Roi  de  Prusse  a  D'Jkmbert,  Sept.  7,  1776. 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE. 


CANTO   THE    THIRD.1 


I. 

Is  thy  face  like  thy  mother's^  my  fair  child  ! 
ADA  !  sole  daughter  of  my  house  and  heart  ?2 
When  last  I  saw  thy  young  blue  eyes  they  smiled. 
And  when  we  parted, — not  as  now  we  part, 
But  with  a  hope. — 

Awaking  with  a  start, 
The  waters  heave  around  me ;  and  on  high 
The  winds  lift  up  their  voices  :  I  depart, 
Whither  I  know  not  ;3  but  the  hour's  gone  by, 
When  Albion's  lessening  shores  could  grieve  or  glad 
mine  eye. 

1  ["  Begun  July  10th,  1816.  Diodati,near  Lake  of  Geneva." — 
MS.] 

fl  [In  a  hitherto  unpublished  letter,  dated  Verona,  November  6, 
1816,  Lord  Byron  says — "  By  the  way,  Ma's  name  (which  I 
found  in  our  pedigree,  under  King  John's  reign)  is  the  same  with 
that  of  the  sister  of  Charlemagne,  as  I  redde,  the  other  day,  in  a 
book  treating  on  the  Rhine."] 

8  [Lord  Byron  quitted  England,  for  the  second  and  last  time, 
on  the  25th  of  April,  1816,  attended  by  William  Fletcher  and 
Robert  Rushton,  the  "  yeoman"  and  "  page"  of  Canto  I. ;  his 
physician,  Dr.  Polidori ;  and  a  Swiss  valet.] 

117 


118  CHILDE  HAROLD'S  CANTO  III. 

II. 

Once  more  upon  the  waters  !  yet  once  more  ! 
And  the  waves  bound  beneath  me  as  a  steed 
That  knows  his  rider.1     Welcome  to  the  roar! 
Swift  be  their  guidance,  wheresoe'er  it  lead ! 
Though  the  strain'd  mast  should  quiver  as  a  reed, 
And  the  rent  canvass  fluttering  strew  the  gale,2 
Still  must  I  on ;  for  I  am  as  a  weed, 
Flung  from  the  rock,  on  Ocean's  foam  to  sail 
Where'er  the  surge  may  sweep,  the  tempest's  breath 
prevail. 

in. 

In  my  youth's  summer  I  did  sing  of  one, 
The  wandering  outlaw  of  his  own  dark  mind; 
Again  I  seize  the  theme,  then  but  begun, 
And  bear  it  with  me,  as  the  rushing  wind 
Bears  the  cloud  onwards :  in  that  tale  I  find 
The  furrows  of  long  thought,  and  dried-up  tears, 
Which,  ebbing,  leave  a  sterile  track  behind, 
O'er  which  all  heavily  the  journeying  years 
Plod  the  last  sands  of  life, — where  not  a  flower  ap- 
pears. 

1  [In  the  "  Two  Noble  Kinsmen"  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
(a  play  to  which  the  picture  of  passionate  friendship  delineated  in 
the  characters  of  Palamon  and  Arcite  would  be  sure  to  draw  the 
attention  of  Byron  in  his  boyhood,)  we  find  the  following  pas- 
sage : — 

"  Oh,  never 

Shall  we  two  exercise,  like  twins  of  Honour, 

Our  arms  again,  and  feel  our  fiery  horses 

Like  proud  seas  under  us." 

Out  of  this  somewhat  forced  simile,  by  a  judicious  transposition 
of  the  comparison,  and  by  the  substitution  of  the  more  definite 
word  "  waves"  for  "  seas,"  Lord  Byron's  clear  and  noble  thought 
has  been  produced. — MOORE.] 

2  ["  And  the  rent  canvass  tattering." — MS.] 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  119 

IV. 

Since  my  young  days  of  passion — joy,  or  pain, 
Perchance  my  heart  and  harp  have  lost  a  string, 
And  both  may  jar  :  it  may  be,  that  in  vain 
I  would  essay  as  I  have  sung  to  sing. 
Yet,  though  a  dreary  strain,  to  this  I  cling, 
So  that  it  wean  me  from  the  weary  dream 
Of  selfish  grief  or  gladness — so  it  fling 
Forgetfulness  around  me — it  shall  seem 
To  me>  though  to  none  else,  a  not  ungrateful  theme. 


v. 

He  who,  grown  aged  in  this  world  of  woe, 
In  deeds,  not  years,  piercing  the  depths  of  life, 
So  that  no  wonder  waits  him ;  nor  below 
Can  love  or  sorrow,  fame,  ambition,  strife, 
Cut  to  his  heart  again  with  the  keen  knife 
Of  silent,  sharp  endurance  :  he  can  tell 
Why  thought  seeks  refuge  in  lone  caves,  yet  rife 
With  airy  images,  and  shapes  which  dwell 
Still  unimpair'd,  though  old,  in  the  soul's  haunted 
cell. 


VI. 

'Tis  to  create,  and  in  creating  live 


A  being  more  intense,  that  we  endow 
With  form  our  fancy,  gaining  as  we  give 
The  life  we  image,  even  as  I  do  now. 
What  am  I  ?     Nothing :  but  not  so  art  thou, 
Soul  of  my  thought !  with  whom  I  traverse  earth. 
Invisible  but  gazing,  as  I  glow 
Mix'd  with  thy  spirit,  blended  with  thy  birth, 
And  feeJing  still  with  thee  in  my  crush'd  feelings* 
dearth. 


ISO  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  III. 

VII. 

Yet  must  I  think  less  wildly : — I  have,  thought 
Too  long  and  darkly,  till  my  brain  became, 
In  its  own  eddy,  boiling  and  o'erwrought, 
A  whirling  gulf  of  phantasy  and  flame  : 
And  thus,  untaught  in  youth  my  heart  to  tame, 
My  springs  of  life  were  poison'd.     ?Tis  too  late  ! 
Yet  am  I  changed ;  though  still  enough  the  same 
In  strength  to  bear  what  time  can  not  abate, 
And  feed  on  bitter  fruits  without  accusing  Fate. 

VIII. 

Something  too  much  of  this: — but  now  'tis  past, 
And  the  spell  closes  with  its  silent  seal. 
Long  absent  HAROLD  reappears  at  last ; 
.  He  of  the  breast  which  fain  no  more  would  feel, 
*J  Wrung  with  the  wounds  which  kill  not,  but  ne'er 
Yet  Time,  who  changes  all,  hadalterM  him  [heal; 
In  soul  and  aspect  as  in  age  r1  years  steal 
Fire  from  the  mind  as  vigour  from  the  limb  ; 
And  life's  enchanted  cup  but  sparkles  near  the  brim. 

["  The  first  and  second  cantos  of  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage 
produced,  on  their  appearance  in  1812,  an  effect  upon  the  public, 
at  .east  equal  to  any  work  which  has  appeared  within  this  or  the 
last  century,  and  placed  at  once  upon  Lord  Byron's  head  the  gar- 
land for  which  other  men  of  genius  have  toiled  long,  and  which 
they  have  gained  late.  He  was  placed  pre-eminent  among  the 
literary  men  of  his  country  by  general  acclamation.  It  was  amidst 
such  feelings  of  admiration  that  he  entered  the  public  stage. 
Every  thing  in  his  manner,  person,  and  conversation,  tended  to 
maintain  the  charm  which  his  genius  had  flung  around  him ;  and 
those  admitted  to  his  conversation,  far  from  finding  that  the  in- 
spired poet  sunk  into  ordinary  mortality,  felt  themselves  attached 
to  him,  not  only  by  many  noble  qualities,  but  by  the  interest  of  a 
mysterious,  undefined,  and  almost  painful  curiosity.  A  counte- 
nance exquisitely  modelled  to  the  expression  of  feeling  and  passion, 
and  exhibiting  the  remarkable  contrast  of  very  dark  hair  and  eye- 
brows, with  alight  and  express' ve  eye,  presented  tothephysiog- 


CAMTO  HI.  PILGRIMAGE.  121 

IX. 

His  had  been  quaffd  too  quickly,  and  he  found 
The  dregs  were  wormwood  ;  but  he  fill'd  again, 
And  from  a  purer  fount,  on  holier  ground, 
And  deem'd  its  spring  perpetual ;  but  in  vain  ! 
Still  round  him  clung  invisibly  a  chain 
Which  gall'd  forever,  fettering  though  unseen, 
And  heavy  though  it  clank'd  not;  worn  with  pain, 
Which  pined  although  it  spoke  not,  and  grew  keen, 
Entering  with  every  step  he  took  through  many  a 
scene. 


Secure  in  guarded  coldness,  he  had  mix'd 
Again  in  fancied  safety  with  his  kind, 
And  deem'd  his  spirit  now  so  firmly  fix'd 
And  sheath'd  with  an  invulnerable  mind, 
That,  if  no  joy,  no  sorrow  lurk'd  behind ; 
And  he,  as  one,  might  midst  the  many  stand 
Unheeded,  searching  through  the  crowd  to  find 
Fit  speculation  ;  such  as  in  strange  land 
He  found  in  wonder-works  of  God  and  Nature's 
hand, 

nomist  the  most  interesting  subject  for  the  exercise  of  his  art. 
The  predominating  expression  was  that  of  deep  and  habitual 
thought,  which  gave  way  to  the  most  rapid  play  of  features  •when 
fie  engaged  in  interesting discussion;  so  that  a  brother  poet  com- 
pared them  to  the  sculpture  of  a  beautiful  alabaster  vase,  only 
seen  to  perfection  when  lighted  up  from  within.  The  flashes  of 
mirth,  gayety,  indignation,  or  satirical  dislike,  which  frequently 
animated  Lord  Byron's  countenance,  might,  during  an  evening's 
conversation,  be  mistaken,  by  a  stranger,  for  the  habitual  ex- 
pression, so  easily  and  so  happily  was  it  formed  for  them  all;  but 
those  who  had  an  opportunity  of  studyinghis  features  for  a  length 
of  time,  and  upon  various  occasions,  both  of  rest  and  emotion, 
will  agree  that  their  proper  language  was  that  of  melancholy. 
Sometimes  shades  of  this  gloom. interrupted  evvn  his  gayest  and 
most  li.ipi>y  iii'-'im ••ills." — Si;t  "WALTER  S.  nrr.] 

u 


CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CAA-TO  III. 


XI. 


But  who  can  view  the  ripened  ro.se,  nor  seek 
To  wear  it  ?  who  can  curiously  behold 
The  smoothness  and  the  sheen  of  beauty's  cheek, 
Nor  feel  the  heart  can  never  all  grow  old  ? 
Who  can  contemplate  Fame  through  clouds  unfold 
The  star  which  rises  o'er  her  steep,  nor  climb? 
;  Harold  once  more  within  the  vortex,  roll'd 
On  with  the  giddy  circle,  ceasing  Time, 
!•  Yet  with  a  nobler  aim  than  in  his  youth's  fond  prime. 


XII. 

But  soon  he  knew  himself  the  most  unfit 
Of  men  to  herd  with  man ;  with  whom  he  held 
Little  in  common  ;  untaught  to  submit 
His  thoughts  to  others,  though  his  soul  was  quell'd 
In  youth  by  his  own  thoughts ;  still  uncompell'd. 
He  would  not  yield  dominion  of  his  mind 
To  spirits  against  whom  his  own  rebell'd; 
Proud  though  in  desolation ;  which  could  find 
A  life  within  itself,  to  breathe  without  mankind. 


XIII. 

Where  rose  the  mountains,  there  to  him  were  friends; 
Where  roll'd  the  ocean,  thereon  was  his  home ; 
Where  a  blue  sky,  and  glowing  clime,  extends, 
He  had  the  passion  and  the  power  to  roam ; 
The  desert,  forest,  cavern,  breaker's  foam. 
Were  unto  him  companionship  ;  they  spake 

A  mutual  language,  clearer  than  the  tome 

,         —  y     p  *  .     .  — .     .-  - — — ... 

Of  his  land's  tongue,  which  he  would  oft  forsake 

For  Nature's   pages   glass'd    by    sunbeams    on    the 
lake. 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  123 

XIV. 

Like  the  Chaldean,  he  could  watr.h  the  sfarsT 
"fill  he  had  peopled  them  with  beings  bright 
As  their  owirbe.a.rflSj  and  earth,  and  earth-born  ^ars, 
And  human  frailties,  were  forgotten  quite  : 
Could  he  have  kept  his  spirit  tothat  flight 
ITe  had  been  happy;  but  this  clay  wiUsjnk 
Its  spark  immortal,  envying  it  the  light 
To  which  it  mounts,  as  if  to  break  the  link  [brink. 
Tiiat  keeps  us  from  you  heaven  which  woos  us  to  its 

XV. 

But  in  man's  dwellings  he  became  a  thing 

costless  and  worn,  and  stern  and  wearisome, 
Droop' J  asaTwud  born  falcon  with  clipped  wing, 
To  whom  the  boundless  air  alone  were  . 
Then  came  his  fit  again,  which  to  o'ercome, 
As  eagerly  the  barr'd-up  bird  will  beat 
His  breast  and  beak  against  his  wiry  dome 
Till  the  blood  tinge  his  plumage,  so  the  heat 
Of  his  impeded  soul  would  through  his  bosom  eat. 

XVI. 

Self-exiled  Harold1  wanders  forth  again, 

"\Vith  naught  of  hope  left,  but  \vithjess_of  gloom  ; 

The  very  knowledge  that  he  lived  in  vain, 

That  all  was  over  on  this  side  the  tomb, 

^*  ["In  the  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold  there  is  much  in- 
equality. The  thoughts  and  images  are  sometimes  laboured ;  but 
still  they  are  a  very  great  improvement  upon  the  first  two  cantos. 
Lord  Byron  here  speaks  in  his  own  language  and  character,  not 
in  the  tone  of  others; — he  is  describing,  not  inventing;  therefore 
he  has  not,  and  cannot  have,  the  freedom  with  which  fiction  is 
composed.  Sometimes  he  has  a  conciseness  which  is  very  power- 
ful, but  almost  abrupt.  From  trusting  himself  alone,  and  working 
out  his  own  deep-buried  thoughts,  he  now,  perhaps,  fell  into  a 
habit  of  labouring,  even  where  there  was  no  occasion  to  labour. 
In  the  first  sixteen  stanzas  there  is  yet  a  mighty  but  groaning 


1-21  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  III 


Had  made  Despair  a  sqailiogoesBt  assume    [wrecF, 
Which,  though  'twere  wild,  —  as  on  the  plunder'd 
When  mariners  would  madly  meet  their  doom 
With  draughts  intemperate  on  the  sinking  deck,  — 
Did  yet  inspire  a  cheer,  which  he  forbore  to  check.1 

XVII. 

Stop  !  —  for  thy  tread  is  on  an  empire's  dust  ! 
An  earthquake's  spoil  is  sepulchred  below  ! 
Is  the  spot  mark'd  with  no  colossal  bust  ? 
Nor  column  trophied  for  triumphal  show  ? 
None  ;  but  the  moral's  truth  tells  simpler  so, 
As  the  ground  was  before,  thus  let  it  be  ;  — 
How  that  red  rain  hath  made  the  harvest  grow  ! 
And  is  this  all  the  world  has  gain'd  by  thee, 
Thou  first  and  last  of  fields  !  king-making  Victory  ? 

burst  of  dark  and  appalling  strength.  It  was  unquestionably  the 
unexaggerated  picture  of  a  most  tempestuous  and  sombre,  but 
magnificent  soul/'  —  BRYDGES.] 

1  [These  stanzas  —  in  which  the  author,  adopting  more  dis- 
tinctly the  character  of  Childe  Harold  than  in  the  original  poem, 
assigns  the  cause  why  he  has  resumed  his  pilgrim's  staff,  when  it 
was  hoped  he  had  sat  down  for  life  a  denizen  of  his  native  country, 
—  abound  with  much  moral  interest  and  poetical  beauty.  The 
commentary  through  which  the  meaning  of  this  melancholy  tale 
is  rendered  obvious,  is  still  in  vivid  remembrance;  for  the  errors 
of  those  who  excel  their  fellows  in  gifts  and  accomplishments  are 
not  soon  forgotten.  Those  scenes,  ever  most  painful  to  the  bosom, 
were  rendered  yet  more  so  by  public  discussion  ;  and  it  is  at  least 
possible  that  amongst  those  who  exclaimed  most  loudly  on  this 
unhappy  occasion,  were  some  in  whose  eyes  literary  superiority 
exaggerated  Lord  Byron's  offence.  The  scene  may  be  described 
in  a  few  words:  —  the  wise  condemned  —  the  good  regretted  —  the 
multitude,  idly  or  maliciously  inquisitive,  rushed  from  place  to 
place,  gathering  gossip,  which  they  mangled  and  exaggerated 
while  they  repeated  it;  and  impudence,  ever  ready  to  hitch  itself 
into  notoriety,  hooked  on,  as  Falstaff  enjoins  Bardolph,  blustered, 
bullied,  and  talked  of"  pleading  a  cause,"  and  "  taking  a  side."  — 
SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.] 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  1<>5 

XVIII. 

And  Harold  stands  upon  this  place  of  skulls, 
The  grave  of  France,  the  deadly  Waterloo  ! 
How  in  an  hour  the  power  which  gave  annuls 
Its  gifts,  transferring  fame  as  fleeting  too  ! 
In  "  pride  of  place"1  here  last  the  eagle  flew, 
Then  tore  with  bloody  talon  the  rent  plain,2 
Pierced  by  the  shaft  of  banded  nations  through  ; 
Ambition's  life  and  labours  all  were  vain  ;     [chain. 
He  wears  the  shatterd  links  of  the  world's  broken 

XIX. 

Fit  retribution  !  Gaul  may  champ  the  bit 
And  foam  in  fetters; — but  is  earth  more  free  ? 
Did  nations  combat  to  make  one  submit ; 
Or  league  to  teach  all  kings  true  sovereignty  ? 
What !  shall  reviving  Thraldom  again  be 
The  patch'd-up  idol  of  enlighten'd  days  ! 
Shall  we,  who  struck  the  lion  down,  shall  we 
Pay  the  wolf  homage  ?  proffering  lowly  gaze 
And  servile  knees  to  thrones  ?  No  ;  prove  before  ye 
praise ! 

1  "  Pride  of  place"  is  a  term  of  falconry,  and  means  the  highest 
pitch  of  flight.     See  Macbeth,  &c. 

"  An  eagle  towering  in  his  pride  of  place,"  &c. 
8  [In  the  original  draught  of  this  stanza,  (which,  as  well  as  the 
preceding  one,  was  written  after  a  visit  to  the  field  of  Waterloo,) 
the  lines  stood — 

"  Here  his  last  flight  the  haughty  eagle  flew, 

Then  tore  with  bloody  beak  the  fatal  plain." — 
On  seeing  these  lines,  Mr.  Reinagle  sketched  a  spirited  chained 
eagle,  grasping  the  earth  with  his  talons.    The  circumstance  being 
mentioned  to  Lord  Byron,  he  wrote  thus  to  a  friend  at  Brussels 
— "Reinagle  is  a  better  poet  and  a  better  ornithologist  than  I  am 
eagles,  and  all  birds  of  prey,  attack  with  their  talons,  and  no« 
with  their  beaks :  and  I  have  altered  the  line  thus  : — 

'Then  tore  with  bloody  talon  the  rent  plain.' 
This  is,  I  think,  a  better  line,  besides  its  poetical  justice."] 
11* 


126  CIIILDE   HAHO  LD'S  CANTO  III. 

xx. 

If  not,  o'er  one  fallen  despot  boast  no  more  ! 
In  vain  fair  cheeks  were  furrow'd  with  hot  tears 
For  Europe's  flowers,  long  rooted  up  before 
The  trampler  of  her  vineyards ;  in  vain  years 
Of  death,  depopulation,  bondage,  fears, 
Have  all  been  borne,  and  broken  by  the  accord 
Of  roused-up  millions :  all  that  most  endears 
Glory,  is  when  the  myrtle  wreathes  a  sword 
Such  as  Harmodius1  drew  on  Athens'  tyrant  lord. 

/;  xxi. 

1  There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gather'd  then 
Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 
The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily;  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 
Soft  eyes  look'd  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell  ;3 
Buthush !  hark!  adeepsound strikes likea risingknell !// 

1  See  the  famous  song  on  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton.  The 
best  English  translation  is  in  Eland's  Anthology,  by  Mr.  (now 
Lord  Chief  Justice)  Denman,— 

"  With  myrtle  my  sword  will  I  wreathe,"  &c. 

3  [There  can  be  no  more  remarkable  proof  of  the  greatness  of 
Lord  Byron's  genius,  than  the  spirit  and  interest  he  has  contrived 
to  communicate  to  his  picture  of  the  often-drawn  and  difficult 
scene  of  the  breaking  up  from  Brussels  before  the  great  battle.  It 
is  a  trite  remark,  that  poets  generally  fail  in  the  representation  of 
great  events,  where  the  interest  is  recent,  and  the  particulars 
are  consequently  clearly  and  commonly  known.  It  required  some 
courage  to  venture  on  a  theme  beset  with  so  many  dangers,  and 
deformed  with  the  wrecks  of  so  many  former  adventurers.  See, 
however,  with  what  easy  strength  he  enters  upon  it,  and  with 
how  much  grace  he  gradually  finds  his  way  back  to  his  own  pe- 
culiar vein  of  sentiment  and  diction  ! — JEFFHEY.] 

8  On  the  night  previous  to  the  action,  it  is  said  that  a  ball  was 
£1M« »  at  Brussels. — [The  popular  error  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  127 

XXII. 

Did  ye  not  hear  it  ? — No  ;  'twas  but  the  wind 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street ; 
On  with  the  dance  !  let  joy  be  unconfined ; 
No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet — 
But  hark  ! — that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before  ! 
Ann!  arm!  it  is — it  is  the  cannon's  opening  roar! 

XXIII. 

Within  a  window 'd  niche  of  that  high  hall 
Sate  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain  ;  he  did  hear 
That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival, 
And  caught  its  tone  with  Death's  prophetic  ear  ; 
And  when  they  smiled  because  he  deem'd  it  near, 
His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well 
Which  stretched  his  father  on  a  bloody  bier,1 
And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell : 
He  rush'd  into  the  field,  and,  foremost  fighting,  fell.2 

having  been  surprised,  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  at  a 
hall  given  by  the  Dutchess  of  Richmond,  at  Brussels,  was  first 
corrected  on  authority,  in  the  History  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte, 
which  forms  a  portion  of  the  "  Family  Library."  The  duke  had 
received  intelligence  of  Napoleon's  decisive  operations,  and  it  was 
intended  to  put  off  the  ball;  but,  on  reflection,  it  seemed  highly 
important  that  the  people  of  Brussels  should  be  kept  in  ignorance 
as  to  the  course  of  events,  and  the  duke  not  only  desired  that  the 
ball  should  proceed,  but  the  general  officers  received  his  commands 
to  appear  at  it — each  taking  care  to  quit  the  apartment  as  quietly 
as  possible  at  ten  o'clock,  and  proceed  to  join  his  respective  di- 
vision en  route.] 

1  [The  father  of  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  who  fell  at  Quatre- 
bras,  received  his  death-wround  at  Jena.] 

8  [This  stanza  is  very  grand,  even  from  its  total  unadornment. 
Ft.  is  only  a  versification  of  the  common  narrative :  but  here  may 
well  be  applied  a  position  of  Johnson,  that  "where  truth  is  suf 
ficientto  fii'i  the  mind,  fiction  is  worse  than  useless."— . 


108  CIIILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  III. 

XXIV. 

Ah  !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
And  gathering  tears  and  tremblings  of  distress, 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blush'd  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness 
And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated  ;  who  could  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes, 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise ! 

XXV. 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  :  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war  ; 
And  the  deep  thunder  peal  on  peal  afar  ; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star  ; 
While  throng'd  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispering,  with  white  lips — "  The  foe  !     They 
come  !  they  come  !" 

xxvr. 

And  wild  and  high  the  "Cameron's  gathering"  rose ! 
The  war-note  of  Lochiel,  which  Albyn's  hills 
Have  heard,  and  heard,  too,  have  her  Saxon  foes : — 
How  in  the  noon  of  night  that  pibroch  thrills, 
Savage  and  shrill !    But  with  the  breath  which  fills 
Their  mountain-pipe,  so  fill  the  mountaineers 
With  the  fierce  native  daring  which  instils 
The  stirring  memory  of  a  thousand  years,     [ears  ! 
And  Evan's,  Donald's1  fame  rings  in  each  clansman's 

1  Sir  Evan  Cameron,  and  his  descendant  Donald,  the  "  gentle 
Loclne!"  of  the  "  forty  .five.1" 


CANTO  III.  P  I  L  G  K  I  M  A  G  E.  129 

XXVII. 

And  Ardennes1  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves, 
Dewy  with  nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass, 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieve, 
Iver  the  unretnrning  brave, — alas  ! 
•>e  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass 
Vhich  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 
i  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 
Of  living  valour,  rolling  on  the  foe 
And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  moulder  cold  and 
low. 


XXVIII. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 
Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay, 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal  sound  of  strife, 
The  morn  the  marshalling  in  arms, — the  day 
Battle's  magnificently-stern  array ! 
The  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent, 
The  earth  is  cover'd  thick  with  other  clay, 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heap'd  and  pent 
Rider   and   horse, — friend,  foe, — in  one  red  burial 
blent  !3 


1  The  wood  of  Soignies  is  supposed  to  be  a  remnant  of  the  forest 
of  Ardennes,  famous  in  Boiardo's  Orlando,  and  immortal  in  Shak- 
speare's  "As  you  like  it."  It  is  also  celebrated  in  Tacitus,  as 
being  the  spot  of  successful  defence  by  the  Germans  against  the 
Roman  encroachments.  I  have  ventured  to  adopt  the  name  con- 
nected with  nobler  associations  than  those  of  mere  slaughter. 

9  [Childe  Harold,  though  he  shuns  to  celebrate  the  victory  of 
Waterloo,  gives  us  here  a  most  beautiful  description  of  theevening 
which  preceded  the  battle  of  Quatre  Bras,  the  alarm  which  called 
out  the  troops,  and  the  hurry  and  confusion  which  preceded  their 
march.  I  am  not  sure  that  any  verses  in  our  language  surpass, 
in  vigour  and  in  feeling,  this  most  beautiful  description. — SIR 
WALTER  SCOTT.] 


130  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  III 

XXIX. 

Their  praise  is  hymn'd  by  loftier  harps  than  mine ; 
Yet  one  I  would  select  from  that  proud  throng, 
Partly  because  they  blend  me  with  his  line, 
And  partly  that  I  did  his  sire  some  wrong,1 
And  partly  that  bright  names  will  hallow  song; 
And  his  was  of  the  bravest,  and  when  shower'd 
The  death-bolts  deadliest  the  thinn'd  files  along, 
Even  where  the  thickest  of  war's  tempest  lower'd, 
They  reach'd  no  nobler  breast  than  thine,  young, 
gallant  Howard  !2 

XXX. 

There  have  been  tears  and  breaking  hearts  for  thee, 
And  mine  were  nothing,  had  I  such  to  give  ; 
But  when  I  stood  beneath  the  fresh  green  tree, 
Which  living  waves  where  thou  didst  cease  to  live, 
And  saw  around  me  the  wide  field  revive 
With  fruits  and  fertile  promise,  and  the  spring 
Come  forth  her  work  of  gladness  to  contrive, 
With  all  her  reckless  birds  upon  the  wing, 
I  turn'd  from  all  she  brought  to  those  she  could  not 
bring.3 

1  [See  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers.] 
a  ["  In  the  late  battles,  like  all  the  world,  I  have  lost  a  connec- 
tion— poor  Frederick  Howard,  the  best  of  his  race.     I  had  little 
intercourse  of  late  years  with  his  family;  but  I  never  saw  or  heard 
but  good  of  him." — Lord  S.  to  Mr,  Moore."] 

8  My  guide  from  Mont  St.  Jean  over  the  field  seemed  intelligent 
and  accurate.  The  place  where  Major  Howard  fell  was  not  far 
from  two  tall  and  solitary  trees,  (there  was  a  third  cut  down,  or 
shivered  in  the  battle,)  which  stand  a  few  yards  from  each  other 
at  a  pathway's  side.  Beneath  these  he  died  and  was  buried.  The 
body  has  since  been  removed  to  England.  A  small  hollow  for  the 
present  marks  where  it  lay,  but  will  probably  soon  be  effaced  ;  tho 
plough  has  been  upon  it,  and  the  grain  is.  After  pointing  out  tho 
different  spots  where  Picton  and  other  gallant  men  had  perished; 
the  guide  said,  "  Here  Major  Howard  lay ;  I  was  near  him  when 


CANTO  III.  P  J  L  G  II I  M  A  G  E.  131 

XXXI. 

I  turn'd  to  thee,  to  thousands,  of  whom  each 

And  one  as  all  a  ghastly  gap  did  make 

In  his  own  kind  and  kindred,  whom  to  teach 

Forgetfulness  were  mercy  for  their  sake ; 

The  Archangel's  trurnp,  not  Glory's,  must  awake 

Those  whom  they  thirst  for ;  though  the  sound  of 

Fame 

May  for  a  moment  soothe,  it  cannot  slake 
The  fever  of  vain  longing,  and  the  name 
So  honour'd  but  assumes  a  stronger,  bitterer  claim. 

XXXII. 

They  mourn,  but  smile   at  length ;  and,  smiling, 

mourn : 

The  tree  will  wither  long  before  it  fall ; 
The  hull  drives  on,  though  mast  and  sail  be  torn  ; 
The  roof-tree  sinks,  but  moulders  on  the  hall 
In  massy  hoariness  ;  the  ruin'd  wall 
Stands  when  its  wind-worn  battlements  are  gone; 
The  bars  survive  the  captive  they  enthral ; 
The  day  drags  through  though  storms  keep  out  the 

sun; 
And  thus  the  heart  will  break,  yet  brokenly  live  on : 

wounded."  I  told  him  my  relationship,  and  he  seemed  then  still 
more  anxious  to  point  out  the  particular  spot  and  circumstances. 
The  place  is  one  of  the  most  marked  in  the  field,  from  the  pecu- 
liarity of  the  two  trees  above  mentioned.  I  went  on  horseback 
twice  over  the  field,  comparing  it  with  my  recollection  of  similar 
scenes.  As  a  plain,  Waterloo  seems  marked  out  for  the  scene 
of  some  great  action,  though  this  may  be  mere  imagination  :  I 
have  viewed  with  attention  those  of  Platea,  Troy,  Mantinea. 
Leuctra,  Chaeronea,  and  Marathon;  and  the  field  around  Mont 
St.  Jean  and  Hougoumont  appears  to  want  little  but  a  better 
cause,  and  that  undennable  but  impressive  halo  which  the  lapse 
of  ages  throws  around  a  celebrated  spot,  to  vie  in  interest  with 
any  or  all  of  these,  except,  perhaps,  the  last  mentioned. 


132  C II I LDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  III 

XXXIII. 

Even  as  a  broken  mirror,  which  the  glass 
In  every  fragment  multiplies ;  and  makes 
A  thousand  images  of  one  that  was 
The  same,  and  still  the  more,  the  more  it  breaks  ; 
And  thus  the  heart  will  do  which  not  forsakes, 
Living  in  shatter'd  guise,  and  still,  and  cold, 
And  bloodless,  with  its  sleepless  sorrow  aches, 
Yet  withers  on  till  all  without  is  old, 
Showing  no  visible  sign,  for  such  things  are  untold.1 

XXXIV. 

There  is  a  very  life  in  our  despair, 
Vitality  of  poison, — a  quick  root 
Which  feeds  these  deadly  branches ;  for  it  were 
As  nothing  did  we  die ;  but  life  will  suit 
Itself  to  Sorrow's  most  detested  fruit, 
Like  to  the  apples2  on  the  Dead  Sea's  shore, 
All  ashes  to  the  taste  :  did  man  compute 
Existence  by  enjoyment,  and  count  o'er 
Such  hours  'gainst  years  of  life, — say,  would  he  name 
threescore  ? 

XXXV. 

The  psalmist  number'd  out  the  years  of  man : 
They  are  enough ;  and  if  thy  tale  be  true, 
Thou,  who  didst  grudge  him  even  that  fleeting  span, 
More  than  enough,  thou  fatal  Waterloo  ! 

1  [There  is  a  richness  and  energy  in  this  passage,  which  is 
peculiar  to  Lord  Byron,  among  all  modern  poets ;  a  throng  of 
glowing  images,  poured  forth  at  once,  with  a  facility  and  profusion, 
which  must  appear  mere  wastefulness  to  more  economical  writers, 
and  a  certain  negligence  and  harshness  of  diction,  which  can  he- 
long  only  to  an  author  who  is  oppressed  with  the  exuberance  and 
rapidity  of  his  conceptions. — JEFFREY.] 

a  The  (fabled)  apples  on  the  brink  of  the  lake  Asphaltes  were 
said  to  be  fair  without,  and,  within,  ashes.  Vide  Tacitus,  Hirf- 
tor.  lib.  v.  7. 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  133 

Millions  of  tongues  record  thee,  and  anew 
Their  children's  lips  shall  echo  them,  and  say — 
"  Here,  where  the  sword  united  nations  drew, 
Our  countrymen  were  warring  on  that  day  !" 
And  this  is  much,  and  all  which  will  not  pass  away. 

XXXVI. 

There  sunk  the  greatest,  nor  the  worst  of  men, 
Whose  spirit  antithetically  mix'd 
One  moment  of  the  mightiest,  and  again 
On.  little  objects  with  like  firmness  fix'd, 

v7  Extreme  in  all  things !  hadst  thou  been  betwixt, 
Thy  throne  had  still  been  thine,  or  never  been ; 
For  daring  made  thy  rise  as  fall:  thou  seek'st 
Even  now  to  reassume  the  imperial  mien, 

And  shake  again  the  world,  the  Thunderer  of  the 
scene! 

XXXVII. 

Conqueror  and  captive  of  the  earth  art  thou  ! 
She  trembles  at  thee  still,  and  thy  wild  name 
Was  ne'er  more  bruited  in  men's  minds  than  now 
That  thou  art  nothing,  save  the  jest  of  Fame, 
Who  woo'd  thee  once,  thy  vassal,  and  became 
The  flatterer  of  thy  fierceness,  till  thou  wert 
A  god  unto  thyself;  nor  less  the  same 
To  the  astounded  kingdoms  all  inert, 
Who  deem'd  thee  for  a  time  whatever  thou  didst 
assert. 

XXXVIII. 

Oh,  more  or  less  than  man — in  high  or  low, 
Battling  with  nations,  flying  from  the  field ; 
Now  making  monarchs'  necks  thy  footstool,  IICT& 

More  than  thy  meanest  soldier  taught  to  yield . 
i* 


131  CHILDE   HA  HOLD'S          CANTO  III. 

An  empire  thou  couldst  crush,  command,  rebuild, 
But  govern  not  thy  pettiest  passion,  nor, 
However  deeply  in  men's  spirits  skill'd, 
Look  through  thine  own,  nor  curb  the  lust  of  war, 
Nor  learn  that  tempted  Fate  will  leave  the  loftiest 
star. 

xxxix. 

Yet  well  thy  soul  hath  brook'd  the  turning  tide 
With  that  untaught  innate  philosophy, 
Which,  be  it  wisdom,  coldness,  or  deep  pride, 
Is  gall  and  wormwood  to  an  enemy. 
When  the  whole  host  of  hatred  stood  hard  by, 
To  watch  and  mock  thee  shrinking,  thou  hast  smiled 
With  a  sedate  and  all-enduring  eye ; — 
When  Fortune  fled  her  spoil'd  and  favourite  child, 
He  stood  unbow'd  beneath  the  ills  upon  him  piled. 

XL. 

Sager  than  in  thy  fortunes  ;  for  in  them 
Ambition  steel'd  thee  on  too  far  to  show 
That  just  habitual  scorn,  which  could  contemn 
Men  and  their  thoughts;  'twas  wise  to  feel,  not  so 
To  wear  it  ever  on  thy  lip  and  brow, 
And  spurn  the  instruments  thou  wert  to  use 
Till  they  were  turn'd  unto  thine  overthrow ; 
'Tis  but  a  worthless  world  to  win  or  lose; 
So  hath  it  proved  to  thee,  and  all  such  lot  who  choose. 


XLI. 

If,  like  a  tower  upon  a  headlong  rock, 
Thou  hadst  been  made  to  stand  or  fall  alone, 
Such  scorn  of  man  had  help'd  to  brave  the  shock; 
But  men's  thoughts  were  the  steps  which  paved 
thy  throne, 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  135 

/ 

Their  admiration  thy  best  weapon  shone  ; 
The  part  of  Philip's  son  was  thine,  not  then, 
(Unless  aside  thy  purple  had  been  thrown) 
Like  stern  Diogenes  to  mock  at  men ;  i 

For  sceptred  cynics  earth  were  far  too  wide  a  den.1 

XLII. 

But  quiet  to  quick  bosoms  is  a  hell, 
And  there  hath  been  thy  bane ;  there  is  a  fire 
And  motion  of  the  soul  which  will  not  dwell 
In  its  own  narrow  being,  but  aspire 
Beyond  the  fitting  medium  of  desire; 
And,  but  once  kindled,  quenchless  evermore, 
Preys  upon  high  adventure,  nor  can  tire 
Of  aught  but  rest ;  a  fever  at  the  core, 
Fatal  to  him  who  bears,  to  all  who  ever  bore. 

XLIII. 

This  makes  the  madmen  who  have  made  men  mad 
By  their  contagion ;  conquerors  and  kings, 
Founders  of  sects  and  systems,  to  whom  add 
Sophists,  bards,  statesmen,  all  unquiet  things 
Which  stir  too  strongly  the  soul's  secret  springs, 
And  are  themselves  the  fools  to  those  they  fool ; 
Envied,  yet  how  unenviable  !  what  stings 
Are  theirs!     One  breast  laid  open  were  a  school 
Which  would  unteach  mankind  the  lust  to  shine  or  rule : 

1  The  great  error  of  Napoleon,  "if  we  have  writ  our  annals  true," 
was  a  continued  obtrusion  on  mankind  of  his  want  of  all  com- 
munity of  feeling  for  or  with  them;  perhaps  more  offensive  to 
human  vanity  than  the  active  cruelty  of  more  trembling  an 
suspicious  tyranny.  Such  were  his  speeches  to  public  assemblies 
as  well  as  individuals;  and  the  single  expression  which  he  is  said 
to  have  used  on  returning  to  Paris  after  the  Russian  winter  had 
destroyed  his  army,  rubbing  his  hands  over  a  fire,  "This  is  plea- 
santer  than  Moscow,"  would  probably  alienate  more  favour  from 
his  causeHhan  the  destruction  and  reverses  which  led  to  tho 
remark. 


13G  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  III 

XLIV. 

Their  breath  is  agitation,  and  their  life 
A  storm  whereon  they  ride,  to  sink  at  last, 
And  yet  so  nursed  and  bigoted  to  strife, 
That  should  their  days,  surviving  perils  past, 
Melt  to  calm  twilight,  they  feel  overcast 
With  sorrow  and  supineness,  and  so  die  ; 
Even  as  a  flame  unfed,  which  runs  to  waste 
With  its  own  flickering,  or  a  sword  laid  by, 
Which  eats  into  itself,  and  rusts  ingloriously. 

XLV. 

He  who  ascends  to  mountain-tops,  shall  find 
The  loftiest  peaks  most  wrapt  in  clouds  and  snow; 
He  who  surpasses  or  subdues  mankind, 
Must  look  down  on  the  hate  of  those  below. 
Though  high  above  the  sun  of  glory  glow, 
And  far  beneath  the  earth  and  ocean  spread, 
Round  him  are  icy  rocks,  and  loudly  blow- 
Contending  tempests  on  his  naked  head, 
And  thus  reward  the  toils  which  to  those  summits 
led.1 

1  [This  is  certainly  splendidly  written,  but  we  trust  it  is  not 
true.  From  Macedonia's  madman  to  the  Swede — from  Nimrod 
to  Bonaparte, — the  hunters  of  men  have  pursued  their  sport 
with  as  much  gayety,  and  as  little  remorse,  as  the  hunters  of  other 
animals;  and  have  lived  as  cheerily  in  their  days  of  action,  and  as 
comfortable  in  their  repose,  as  the  followers  of  better  pursuits. 
It  would  be  strange,  therefore,  if  the  other  active,  but  more 
innocent  spirits,  whom  Lord  Byron  has  here  placed  in  the  same 
predicament,  and  who  share  all  their  sources  of  enjoyment,  without 
the  guilt  and  the  hardness  which  they  cannot  fail  of  contracting, 
should  be  more  miserable  or  more  unfriended  than  those  splendid 
curses  of  their  kind  ;  and  it  would  be  passing  strange,  and  pitiful, 
if  the  most  precious  gifts  of  Providence  should  produce  only 
•mhappmess,  and  mankind  regard  with  hostility  their  greatest 
nenefuctors. — JEFFREY.] 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  137 

XLVI. 

Away  with  these  !  true  Wisdom's  world  will  be 
Within  its  own  creation,  or  in  thine, 
Maternal  Nature  !  for  who  teems  like  thee, 
Thus  on  the  banks  of  thy  majestic  Rhine  ? 
There  Harold  gazes  on  a  work  divine, 
A  blending  of  all  beauties  ;  streams  and  dells, 
Fruit,foliage,  crag,  wood, cornfield,  mountain,  vine, 
And  chiefless  castles  breathing  stern  farewells 
From  gay  but  leafy  walls,  where  Ruin  greenly  dwells. 

XLVII. 

And  there  they  stand,  as  stands  a  lofty  mind, 
Worn,  but  unstooping  to  the  baser  crowd, 
All  tenantless,  save  to  the  crannying  wind, 
Or  holding  dark  communion  with  the  cloud. 
There  was  a  day  when  they  were  young  and  proud, 
Banners  on  high,  and  battles  pass'd  below ; 
But  they  who  fought  are  in  a  bloody  shroud, 
And  those  which  waved  are  shredless  dust  ere  now, 
And  the  bleak  battlements  shall  bear  no  future  blow. 

XLVIII. 

Beneath  these  battlements,  within  those  walls 
Power  dwelt  amidst  her  passions ;  in  proud  state 
Each  robber  chief  upheld  his  armed  halls, 
Doing  his  evil  will,  nor  less  elate 
Than  mightier  heroes  of  a  longer  date. 
What  want  these  outlaws1  conquerors  should  have? 
But  History's  purchased  page  to  call  them  great? 
A  wider  space,  an  ornamented  grave  ? 
Their  hopes  were  not  less  warm,  their  souls  were  full 
as  brave. 

1  "  What  wants  that  knave  that  a  king  should  havel"  was 
Kin<r  James's  question  on  meeting  Johnny  Armstrong  and  his 
followers  in  full  accoutrements. — See  the  Ballad. 
12* 


138  CHILDEHAROLD'S          CANTO  III 

XLIX. 

In  their  baronial  feuds  and  single  fields, 
What  deeds  of  prowess  unrecorded  died ! 
And  Love,  which  lent  a  blazon  to  their  shields, 
With  emblems  well  devised  by  amorous  pride, 
Through  all  the  mail  of  iron  hearts  would  glide ; 
But  still  their  flame  was  fierceness,  and  drew  on 
Keen  contest  and  destruction  near  allied, 
And  many  a  tower,  for  some  fair  mischief  won, 
Saw  the  discolour'd  Rhine  beneath  its  ruin  run. 


L. 

But  thou,  exulting  and  abounding  river ! 
Making  thy  waves  a  blessing  as  they  flow 
Through  banks  whose  beauty  would  endure  for- 
ever 

Could  man  but  leave  thy  bright  creation  so, 
Nor  its  fair  promise  from  the  surface  mow 
With  the  sharp  scythe  of  conflict, — then  to  see 
Thy  valley  of  sweet  waters,  were  to  know 
Earth  paved  like  heaven ;  and  to  seem  such  to  me, 
Even  now  what  wants  thy  stream? — that  it  should 
Lethe  be. 

LI. 

A  thousand  battles  have  assail'd  thy  banks, 
But  these  and  half  their  fame  have  pass'd  away, 
And  Slaughter  heap'don  high  his  weltering  ranks; 
Their  very  graves  are  gone,  and  what  are  they  ? 
Thy  tide  wash'd  down  the  blood  of  yesterday, 
And  all  was  stainless,  and  on  thy  clear  stream 
Glass'd  with  its  dancing  light  the  sunny  ray ; 
But  o'er  the  blacken'd  memory's  blighting  dream 
Th'r  waves  would  vainly  roll,  all  sweeping  as  they 
seem. 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  139 

LIT. 

Thus  Harold  inly  said,  and  passed  along, 
Yet  not  insensibly  to  all  which  here 
Awoke  the  jocund  birds  to  early  song 
In  glens  which  might  have  made  even  exile  dear : 
Though  on  his  brow  were  graven  lines  austere, 
And  tranquil  sternness  which  had  ta'en  the  place 
Of  feelings  fierier  far  but  less  severe, 
Joy  was  not  always  absent  from  his  face, 
But  o'er  it  in  such  scenes  would  steal  with  transient 
trace. 


LIII. 

Nor  was  all  love  shut  from  him,  though  his  days 
Of  passion  had  consumed  themselves  to  dust. 
It  is  in  vain  that  we  would  coldly  gaze 
On  such  as  smile  upon  us  ;  the  heart  must 
Leap  kindly  back  to  kindness,  though  disgust 
Hath  wean'd  it  from  all  worldings:  thus  he  felt, 
For  there  was  soft  remembrance,  and  sweet  trust 
In  one  fond  breast,  to  which  his  own  would  melt, 
And  in  its  tenderer  hour  on  that  his  bosom  dwelt. 


LIV. 

And  he  had  learn'd  to  love, — I  know  not  why, 
For  this  in  such  as  him  seems  strange  of  mood, — 
The  helpless  looks  of  blooming  infancy, 
Even  in  its  earliest  nurture  ;  what  subdued, 
To  change  like  this,  a  mind  so  far  imbued 
With  scorn  of  man,  it  little  boots  to  know  ; 
But  thus  it  was  ;  and  though  in  solitude 
Small  power  the  nipp'd  affections  have  to  grow. 
In  him  this  glow'd  when  all  beside  had  ceased  to 
glow. 


HO  CHILDE  HAROLD'S          CANTO  III 


, 


LV. 

And  there  was  one  soft  breast,  as  hath  been  said, 
Which  unto  his" was  bound  by  stronger  ties 
Than  the  church  links  withal;  and,  though  unwed, 
That  love  was  pure,  and  far  above  disguise, 
Had  stood  the  test  of  mortal  enmities 
Still  undivided,  and  cemented  more 
By  peril,  dreaded  most  in  female  eyes  ; 
But  this  was  firm,  and  from  a  foreign  shore  [pour  ! 
Well  to  that  heart  might  his  these  absent  greetings 

1. 

The  castled  crag  of  Drachenfels1 
Frowns  o'er  the  wide  and  winding  Rhine, 
Whose  breast  of  waters  broadly  swells 
Between  the  banks  which  bear  the  vine, 
And  hills  all  rich  with  blossom'd  trees, 
And  fields  which  promise  corn  and  wine, 
And  scatter'd  cities  crowning  these, 
Whose  far  white  walls  along  them  shine, 
Have  strew'd  a  scene,  which  I  should  see 
With  double  joy  wert  thou  with  me.2 

2. 

And  peasant  girls,  with  deep-blue  eyes, 
And  hands  which  offer  early  flowers, 
Walk  smiling  o'er  this  paradise  ; 
Above,  the  frequent  feudal  towers 

1  The  castle  of  Drachenfels  stands  on  the  highest  summit  of 
"  the  Seven  Mountains,"  over  the  Rhine  banks  :  it  is  in  ruins,  and 
connected  with  some  singular  traditions.  It  is  the  first  in  view  on 
the  road  from  Bonn,  but  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river ;  on  this 
bank,  nearly  facing  it,  are  the  remains  of  another,  called  the  Jew's 
Castle,  and  a  large  cross,  commemorative  of  the  murder  of  a 
chief  by  his  brother.  The  number  of  castles  and  cities  along  the 
course  of  the  Rhine  on  both  sides  is  very  great,  and  their  situa- 
tions remarkably  beautiful. 

8  [These  verses  were  written  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  in 


CASTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  141 

Through  green  leaves  lift  their  walls  of  gray, 
And  many  a  rock  which  steeply  lowers, 
And  noble  arch  in  proud  decay, 
Look  o'er  this  vale  of  vintage-bowers ; 
But  one  thing  want  these  banks  of  Rhine, — 
Thy  gentle  hand  to  clasp  in  mine  ! 

3. 

I  send  the  lilies  given  to  me ; 
Though  long  before  thy  hand  they  touch, 
I  know  that  they  must  wither'd  be, 
But  yet  reject  them  not  as  such ; 
For  I  have  cherish'd  them  as  dear, 
Because  they  yet  may  meet  thine  eye, 
And  guide  thy  soul  to  mine  even  here, 
When  thou  behold'st  them  drooping  nigh, 
And  know'st  them  gathered  by  the  Rhine, 
And  offer'd  from  my  heart  to  thine  ! 

4. 

The  river  nobly  foams  and  flows, 
The  charm  of  this  enchanted  ground, 
And  all  its  thousand  turns  disclose 
Some  fresher  beauty  varying  round : 
The  haughtiest  breast  its  wish  might  bound 
Through  life  to  dwell  delighted  here  ; 
Nor  could  on  earth  a  spot  be  found 
To  nature  and  to  me  so  dear, 
Could  thy  dear  eyes  in  following  mine 
Still  sweeten  more  these  banks  of  Rhine  ! 

LVI. 

By  Coblentz,  on  a  rise  of  gentle  ground, 
There  is  a  small  and  simple  pyramid, 
Crowning  the  summit  of  the  verdant'  mound  ; 
Beneath  its  base  are  heroes'  ashes  hid, 

May.    The  original  pencilling  is  before  us.     It  is  needless  to 
observe,  that  they  were  addressed  by  the  poet  to  his  sister.] 


143  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  III 

Our  enemy's — but  let  not  that  forbid 
Honour  to  Marceau  !  o'er  whose  early  tomb 
Tears,  big  tears  gush'd  from  the  rough  soldier's  lid, 
Lamenting  and  yet  envying  such  a  doom, 
Falling  for  France,  whose  rights  he  battled  to  resume. 

LVIX. 

Brief,  brave,  and  glorious  was  his  young  career, — 
His  mourners  were  two  hosts,  his  friends  and 

foes; 

And  fitly  may  the  stranger  lingering  here 
Pray  for  his  gallant  spirit's  bright  repose ; 
For  he  was  Freedom's  champion,  one  of  those, 
The  few  in  number,  who  had  riot  o'erstept 
The  charter  to  chastise  which  she  bestows 
On  such  as  wield  her  weapons;  he  had  kept 
The  whiteness  of  his  soul,  and  thus  men  o'er  him 

wept.1 

1  The  monument  of  the  young  and  lamented  General  Marceau 
(killed  by  a  rifle-hall  at  Alterkirchen,  on  the  last  day  of  the  fourth 
year  of  the  French  republic)  still  remains  as  described.  The  in- 
scriptions on  his  monument  are  rather  too  long,  and  not  required  : 
his  name  was  enough;  France  adored,  and  her  enemies  admired; 
both  wept  over  him.  His  funeral  was  attended  by  the  generals 
and  detachments  from  both  armies.  In  the  same  grave  General 
Hoche  is  interred,  a  gallant  man  also  in  every  sense  ol  the  word ; 
but  though  he  distinguished  himself  greatly  in  battle,  he  had  not 
the  good  fortune  to  die  there:  his  death  was  attended  by  suspi- 
cions of  poison.  A  separate  monument  (not  over  his  body,  which 
is  buried  by  Marceau's)  is  raised  for  him  near  Andernach,  opposite 
to  which  one  of  his  most  memorable  exploits  was  performed,  in 
throwing  a  bridge  to  an  island  on  the  Rhine.  The  shape  and  style 
are  different  from  that  of  Marceau's,  and  the  inscription  more 
simple  and  pleasing: — "The  Army  of  the  Sambre  and  Meuse  to 
its  Commander-in-chief,  Hoche."  This  is  all,  and  as  it  should  be. 
Hoche  was  esteemed  among  the  first  of  France's  earlier  generals, 
before  Bonaparte  monopolized  her  triumphs.  He  was  the  des- 
tined  commander  of  the  invading  army  of  Ireland. 


CANTO  III.  P IX  G  R  I  M  A  G  E.  HI 

LVIII. 

Here  Ehrenbreitstein,1  with  her  shatter'd  wall 
Black  with  the  miner's  blast,  upon  her  height 
-Yet  shows  of  what  she  was,  when  shell  and  ball 
Rebounding  idly  on  her  strength  did  light : 
A  tower  of  victory  !  from  whence  the  flight 
Of  baffled  foes  was  watch'd  along  the  plain : 
But  Peace  destroy'd  what  War  could  never  blight, 
And  laid  those  proud  roofs  bare  to  Summer's  rain — 
On  which  the  iron  shower  for  years  had  pour'din  vain. 

LIX. 

Adieu  to  thee,  fair  Rhine!  How  long  delighted 
The  stranger  fain  would  linger  on  his  way! 
Thine  is  a  scene  alike  where  souls  united 
Or  lonely  Contemplation  thus  might  stray; 
And  could  the  ceaseless  vultures  cease  to  prey 
On  self-condemning  bosoms,  it  were  here, 
Where  Nature,  nor  too  sombre  nor  too  gay, 
Wild  but  not  rude,  awful  yet  not  austere, 
Is  to  the  mellow  Earth  as  Autumn  to  the  year. 

LX. 

Adieu  to  thee  again  !  a  vain  adieu ! 
There  can  be  no  farewell  to  scene  like  thine ; 
The  mind  is  colour'd  by  thy  every  hue ; 
And  if  reluctantly  the  eyes  resign 

1  Ehrenbreitstein,  i.  e.  "the  broad  stone  of  honour,"  one  of  the 
strongest  fortresses  in  Europe,  was  dismantled  and  blown  up  by 
the  French  at  the  truce  of  Leoben.  It  had  been,  and  could  only 
be,  reduced  by  famine  or  treachery.  It  yielded  to  the  former 
aided  by  surprise.  After  having  seen  the  fortifications  of  Gibraltai 
and  Malta,  it  did  not  much  strike  by  comparison;  but  the  situatioi 
is  commanding.  General  Marceau  besieged  it  in  vain  for  sonu 
time,  and  I  slept  in  a  room  where  I  was  shown  a  window  at  which 
he  is  said  to  have  been  standing  observing  the  progress  of  the 
siege  by  moonlight,  when  a  ball  struck  immediately  below  it. 


141  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  III. 

Their  cherish'd  gaze  upon  thee,  lovely  Rhine  I1 
'Tis  with  the  thankful  glance  of  parting  praise ; 
More  mighty  spots  may  rise — more  glaring  shine, 
But  none  unite  in  one  attaching  maze 
The  brilliant,  fair,  and  soft, — the  glories  of  old  days, 

LXI. 

The  negligently  grand,  the  fruitful  bloom 
Of  coming  ripeness,  the  white  city's  sheen, 
The  rolling  stream,  the  precipice's  gloom, 
The  forest's  growth,  and  Gothic  walls  between, 
The  wild  rocks  shaped  as  they  had  turrets  been, 
In  mockery  of  man's  art ;  and  these  withal 
A  race  of  faces  happy  as  the  scene, 
Whose  fertile  bounties  here  extend  to  all, 
Still  springing  o'er  thy  banks,  though  empires  near 
them  fall. 

LXII. 

But  these  recede.     Above  me  are  the  Alps, 
The  palaces  of  Nature,  whose  vast  walls 
Have  pinnacled  in  clouds  their  snowy  scalps, 
And  throned  Eternity  in  icy  halls 
Of  cold  sublimity,  where  forms  and  falls 
The  avalanche — the  thunderbolt  of  snow  ! 
All  that  expands  the  spirit,  yet  appals, 
Gather  around  these  summits,  as  to  show 
How  Earth  may  pierce  to  Heaven,  yet  leave  vain 
man  below. 

1  [On  taking  Hockheim,  the  Austrians,  in  one  part  of  the  en- 
gagement,  got  to  the  brow  of  the  hill,  whence  they  had  their  first 
view  of  the  Rhine.  They  instantly  halted — not  a  gun  was  fired 
— not  a  voice  heard :  hut  they  stood  gazing  on  the  river  with 
those  feelings  which  the  events  of  the  last  fifteen  years  at  once 
called  up.  Prince  Schwartzenberg  rode  up  to  know  the  cause  of 
this  sudden  stop  ;  then  they  gave  three  cheers,  rushed  after  the 
enemy,  and  drove  them  into  the  water.] 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  145 

LXIII. 

But  ere  these  matchless  heights  I  dare  to  scan, 
There  is  a  spot  should  not  be  pass'd  in  vain, — 
Morat !  the  proud,  the  patriot  field  !  where  man 
May  gaze  on  ghastly  trophies  of  the  slain, 
Nor  blush  for  those  who  conquer'd  on  that  plain ; 
Here  Burgundy  bequeath'd  his  tombless  host, 
A  bony  heap,  through  ages  to  remain, 
Themselves  their  monument ; — the  Stygian  coast 
TJnsepulchred  they  roam'd,  and  shriek'd  each  wander- 
ing ghost.1 

LXIV. 

While  Waterloo  with  Cannae's  carnage  vies, 
Morat  and  Marathon  twin  names  shall  stand  ; 
They  were  true  Glory's  stainless  victories, 
Won  by  the  unambitious  heart  and  hand 
Of  a  proud,  brotherly,  and  civic  band, 
All  unbought  champions  in  no  princely  cause 
Of  vice-entail'd  Corruption  ;  they  no  land 
Doom'd  to  bewail  the  blasphemy  of  laws 
Making   kings'   rights   divine,   by  some    Draconic 
clause. 


1  The  chapel  is  destroyed,  and  the  pyramid  of  bones  diminished 
to  a  small  number  by  the  Burgundian  legion  in  the  service  of 
France;  who  anxiously  effaced  this  record  of  their  ancestors'  less 
successful  invasions.  A  few  still  remain,  notwithstanding  the 
pains  taken  by  the  Burgundians  forages,  (all  who  passed  that  way 
removing  a  bone  to  their  own  country,)  and  the  less  justifiable 
larcenies  of  the  Swiss  postilions,  who  carried  them  off  to  sell  for 
knife-handles ;  a  purpose  for  which  the  whiteness  imbibed  by  the 
bleaching  of  years  had  rendered  them  in  great  request.  Of  these 
relics  I  ventured  to  bring  away  as  much  as  may  have  made  a 
quarter  of  a  hero,  for  which  the  sole  excuse  is,  that  if  I  had  not, 
the  next  passer-by  might  have  perverted  them  to  worse  uses  than 
the  careful  preservation  which  I  intend  for  them. 
13 


146  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  III. 

LXV. 

By  a  lone  wall  a  lonelier  column  rears 
A  gray  and  grief-worn  aspect  of  old  days  ; 
'Tis  the  last  remnant  of  the  wreck  of  years, 
And  looks  as  with  the  wild,  bewilder'd  gaze 
Of  one  to  stone  converted  by  amaze, 
Yet  still  with  consciousness ;  and  there  it  stands 
Making  a  marvel  that  it  not  decays, 
When  the  coeval  pride  of  human  hands, 
Levell'd  Aventicum,1  hath  strew'd  her  subject  lands. 

LXVI. 

And  there — oh]  sweet  and  sacred  be  the  name  ! — 
Julia — the  daughter,  the  devoted — gave 
Her  youth  to  Heaven  ;  her  heart,  beneath  a  claim 
Nearest  to  Heaven's,  broke  o'er  a  father's  grave. 
Justice  is  sworn  'gainst  tears,  and  hers  would  crave 
The  life  she  lived  in;  but  the  judge  was  just, 
And  then  she  died  on  him  she  could  not  save. 
Their  tomb  was  simple  and  without  a  bust, 
And  held  within  their  urn  one  mind,  one  heart,  one 
dust.2 

1  Aventicum,  near  Morat,  was  the  Roman  capital  of  Helvetia, 
where  Avenches  now  stands. 

8  Julia  Alpinula,  a  young  Aventian  priestess,  died  soon  after  a 
vain  endeavour  to  save  her  father,  condemned  to  death  as  a  traitor 
by  Aulus  Csecina.  Her  epitaph  was  discovered  many  years  ago; 
—it  is  thus: — "Julia  Alpinula:  Hie  jaceo.  Infelicis  patris  in- 
felix  proles.  Deae  Aventiae  Sacerdos.  Exorare  patris  necem  non 
potui :  Male  mori  in  fatis  ille  erat.  Vixi  annos  xxm." — I  know 
of  no  human  composition  so  affecting  as  this,  nor  a  history  of 
deeper  interest.  These  are  the  names  and  actions  which  ought 
not  to  perish,  and  to  which  we  turn  with  a  true  and  healthy 
tenderness,  from  the  wretched  and  glittering  detail  of  a  confused 
mass  of  conquests  and  battles,  with  which  the  mind  is  roused  for 
a  time  to  a  false  and  feverish  sympathy,  from  whence  it  recurs  at 
length  with  all  the  nausea  consequent  on  such  intoxication. 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  147 

LXVII. 

Btrt  these  are  deeds  which  should  not  pass  away, 
And  names  that  must  not  wither,  though  the  earth 
Forgets  her  empires  with  a  just  decay,         [birth  ; 
The  enslavers  and  the  enslaved,  their  death  and 
The  high,  the  mountain-majesty  of  worth 
Should  be,  and  shall,  survivor  of  its  woe, 
And  from  its  immortality  look  forth 
In  the  sun's  face,  like  yonder  Alpine  snow,1 
Imperishably  pure  beyond  all  things  below. 

LXVIII. 

Lake  Leman  woos  me  with  its  crystal  face,2 
The  mirror  where  the  stars  and  mountains  view 
The  stillness  of  their  aspect  in  each  trace 
Its  clear  depth  yields  of  their  far  height  and  hue  : 
There  is  too  much  of  man  here,  to  look  through 
With  a  fit  mind  the  might  which  I  behold ; 
But  soon  in  me  shall  Loneliness  renew 
Thoughts  hid,  but  not  less  cherish'd  than  of  old, 
Ere  mingling  with  the  herd  had  penn'd  me  in  their 
fold. 

1  This  is  written  in  the  eye  of  Mont  Blanc,  (June  3d,  1816,) 
which  even  at  this  distance  dazzles  mine. — (July  20th.)  I  this 
day  observed  for  some  time  the  distinct  reflection  of  Mont  Blanc 
and  Mont  Argentiere  in  the  calm  of  the  lake,  which  I  was  crossing 
in  my  boat ;  the  distance  of  these  mountains  from  their  mirror  is 
sixty  miles. 

"  In  the  exquisite  lines  which  the  poet,  at  this  time,  addressed 
to  his  sister,  there  is  the  following  touching  stanza : — 
"  I  did  remind  thee  of  our  own  dear  lake, 
By  the  old  hall  which  may  be  mine  no  more. 
Leman's  is  fair ;  but  think  not  I  forsake 
The  sweet  remembrance  of  a  dearer  shore: 
Sad  havoc  Time  must  with  my  memory  make 
Ere  that  or  Ihou  can  fade  these  eyes  before ; 
Though,  like  all  things  which  I  have  loved,  they  are 
Resign'd  forever,  or  divided  far." 


148  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  III. 

LXIX. 

N/TTo  fly  from,  need  not  be  to  hate,  mankind  : 
All  are  not  fit  with  them  to  stir  and  toil, 
Nor  is  it  discontent  to  keep  the  mind 
Deep  in  its  fountain,  lest  it  overboil 
In  the  hot  throng,  where  we  become  the  spoil 
Of  our  infection,  till  too  late  and  long 
We  may  deplore  and  struggle  with  the  coil, 
In  wretched  interchange  of  wrong  for  wrong 
Midst  a  contentious  world,  striving  where  none  are 
strong. 

LXX. 

There,  in  a  moment,  we  may  plunge  our  years 
In  fatal  penitence,  and  in  the  blight 
Of  our  own  soul  turn  all  our  blood  to  tears, 
And  colour  things  to  come  with  hues  of  Night ; 
The  race  of  life  becomes  a  hopeless  flight 
To  those  that  walk  in  darkness  :  on  the  sea, 
The  boldest  steer  but  where  their  ports  invite, 
But  there  are  wanderers  o'er  Eternity  [be. 

Whose  bark  drives  on  and  on,  and  anchored  ne'ershall 

LXXI. 
^  Is  it  not  better,  then,  to  be  alone, 

And  love  earth  only  for  its  earthly  sake  ? 
By  the  blue  rushing  of  the  arrowy  Rhone,1 
Or  the  pure  bosom  of  its  nursing  lake, 

1  The  colour  of  the  Rhone  at  Geneva  is  blue,  to  a  depth  of  tint 
which  I  have  never  seen  equalled  in  water,  salt  or  fresh,  except 
in  the  Mediterranean  and  Archipelago. — [See  Don  Juan,  c.  xiv. 
st  87,  for  a  beautiful  comparison : — 

"There  was  no  great  disparity  of  years, 

Though  much  in  temper ;  but  they  never  clash'd : 
They  moved  like  stars  united  in  their  spheres, 
Or  like  the  Rhone  by  Leman's  waters  wash'd, 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  149 

Which  feeds  it  as  a  mother  who  doth  make 
A  fair  but  froward  infant  her  own  care, 
Kissing  its  cries  away  as  these  awake  ; — 
Is  it  not  better  thus  our  lives  to  wear, 
Than  join  the  crushing  crowd,  doom'd  to  inflict  or 
bear  ? 

LXXII. 

y  I  live  not  in  myself,  but  I  become 
Portion  of  that  around  me  ;  and  to  me 
High  mountains  are  a  feeling,1  but  the  hum 
Of  human  cities  torture  :  I  can  see 
Nothing  to  loathe  in  nature,  save  to  be 
A  link  reluctant  in  a  fleshly  chain, 
Class'd  among  creatures,  when  the  soul  can  flee, 
And  with  the  sky,  the  peak,  the  heaving  plain 

Of  ocean,  or  the  stars,  mingle,  and  not  in  vain. 

LXXIII. 

And  thus  I  am  absorb'd,  and  this  is  life ; 
I  look  upon  the  peopled  desert  past, 
As  on  a  place  of  agony  and  strife, 
Where,  for  some  sin,  to  sorrow  I  was  cast, 

\Vhere  mingled  and  yet  separate  appears 

The  river  from  the  lake,  all  bluely  dash'd 
Through  the  serene  and  placid  glassy  deep, 
Which  fain  would  lull  its  river  child  to  sleep." — ] 
*  ["  Mr.  Hobhouse  and  myself  are  just  returned  from  a  journey 
of  lakes  and  mountains.     We  have  been  to  the  Grindelwald,  and 
the  Jungfrau,  and  stood  on  the  summit  of  the  Wengen  Alp ;  and 
seen  torrents  of  900  feet  in  fall,  and  glaciers  of  all  dimensions ;  we 
have  heard  shepherds'  pipes,  and  avalanches,  and  looked  on  the 
clouds  foaming  up  from  the  valleys  below  us  like  the  spray  of  the 
ocean  of  hell.     Chamouni,  and  that  which  it  inherits,  we  saw  a 
month  ago;  but,  though  Mont  Blanc  is  higher,  it  is  not  equal  in 
wildness  to  the  Jungfrau,  the  Eighers,  the  Shreckhorn,  and  the 
Rose  Glaciers." — B.  Letters,  Sept.  1816.] 
13* 


150  CHILDE   HARD  LD'S          CANTO  III. 

To  act  and  suffer,  but  remount  at  last 
With  a  fresh  pinion ;  which  I  feel  to  spring, 
Though  young,  yet  waxing  vigorous,  as  the  blast 
Which  it  would  cope  with,  on  delighted  wing, 
Spurning  the  clay-cold  bonds  which  round  our  being 
cling. 

LXXIV. 

And  when,  at  length,  the  mind  shall  be  all  free 
From  what  it  hates  in  this  degraded  form, 
Reft  of  its  carnal  life,  save  what  shall  be 
Existent  happier  in  the  fly  and  worm, — 
When  elements  to  elements  conform, 
And  dust  is  as  it  should  be,  shall  I  not 
Feel  all  I  see,  less  dazzling,  but  more  warm  ? 
The  bodiless  thought  ?  the  Spirit  of  each  spot? 
Of  which,  even  now,  I  share  at  times  the  immortal  lot  ? 

LXXV. 

Are  not  the  mountains,  waves,  and  skies,  a  part 
Of  me  and  of  my  soul,  as  I  of  them  ? 
Is  not  the  love  of  these. deep  in  my  heart 
With  a  pure  passion  ?  should  I  not  contemn 
All  objects,  if  compared  with  thee  ?  and  stem 
A  tide  of  suffering,  rather  than  forego 
Such  feelings  for  the  hard  and  worldly  phlegm 
Of  those  whose  eyes  are  only  turn'd  below, 
Gazing  upon  the  ground,  with  thoughts  which  dare 
not  glow  ? 

LXXVI. 

But  this  is  not  my  theme  ;  and  I  return 
To  that  which  is  immediate,  and  require 
Those  who  find  contemplation  in  the  urn, 
To  look  on  One,  whose  dust  was  once  all  fire, 
/V  native  of  the  land  where  I  respire 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  151 

The  clear  air  for  a  while — a  passing  guest, 
Where  he  became  a  being, — whose  desire 
Was  to  be  glorious ;  'twas  a  foolish  quest, 
The  which  to  gain  and  keep  he  sacrificed  all  rest. 

LXXVII. 

Here  the  self-torturing  sophist,  wild  Rousseau,1 
The  apostle  of  affliction,  he  who  threw 
Enchantment  over  passion,  and  from  woe 
Wrung  overwhelming  eloquence,  first  drew 
The  breath  which  made  him  wretched;  yet  he  knew 
How  to  make  madness  beautiful,  and  cast 
O'er  erring  deeds  and  thoughts  a  heavenly  hue2 
Of  words,  like  sunbeams,  dazzling  as  they  past 
TheeyeSjWhicho'erthem  shed  tears  feelingly  and  fast. 

1  ["  I  have  traversed  all  Rousseau's  ground  with  the  'HeloYse" 
before  me,  and  am  struck  to  a  degree  that  I  cannot  express  with 
the  force  and  accuracy  of  his  descriptions,  and  the  beauty  of  their 
reality.  Meillerie,  Clarens,  and  Vevay,  and  the  Chateau  de 
Chillon,  are  places  of  which  I  shall  say  little ;  because  all  I  could 
say  must  fall  short  of  the  impressions  they  stamp." — B.  Letters.] 

3  ["It  is  evident  that  the  impassioned  parts  of  Rousseau's 
romance  had  made  a  deep  impression  upon  the  feelings  of  the 
noble  poet.  The  enthusiasm  expressed  by  Lord  Byron  is  no 
small  tribute  to  the  power  possessed  by  Jean  Jacques  over  the 
passions :  and,  to  say  truth,  we  needed  some  such  evidence  ;  for, 
though  almost  ashamed  to  avow  the  truth, — still,  like  the  barber 
of  Midas,  we  must  speak  or  die, — we  have  never  been  able  to  feel 
the  interest  or  discover  the  merit  of  this  far-famed  performance. 
That  there  is  much  eloquence  in  the  letters  we  readily  admit : 
there  lay  Rousseau's  strength.  But  his  lovers,  the  celebrated  St. 
Preux  and  Julie,  have,  from  the  earliest  moment  we  have  heard 
the  tale  (which  we  well  remember)  down  to  the  present  hour, 
totally  failed  to  interest  us.  There  might  be  some  constitutional 
hardness  of  heart:  but  like  Lance's  pebble-hearted  cur,  Crab,  we 
remained  dry-eyed  while  all  wept  around  us.  And  still,  on  te- 
suming  the  volume,  even  now,  we  can  see  little  in  the  loves  of 
these  two  tiresome  pedants  to  interest  our  feelings  for  either  of 
them.  To  state  our  opinion  in  language  (see  Burke's  Reflections) 
much  better  than  our  own,  we  are  unfortunate  enough  to  regaid 
this  far-famed  history  of  philosophical  gallantry  as  an  '  unfash- 


152  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  III. 

LXXVIII 

His  love  was  passion's  essence — as  a  tree 
On  fire  by  lightning ;  with  ethereal  flame 
Kindled  he  was,  and  blasted  ;  for  to  be 
Thus,  and  enamour'd,  were  in  him  the  same. 
But  his  was  not  the  love  of  living  dame, 
Nor  of  the  dead  who  rise  upon  our  dreams, 
But  of  ideal  beauty,  which  became 
In  him  existence,  and  o'erflowing  teems 
Along  his  burning  page,  distemper'd  though  it  seems 

LXXIX. 

This  breathed  itself  to  life  in  Julie,  this 
Invested  her  with  all  that's  wild  and  sweet ; 
This  hallow'd,  too,  the  memorable  kiss1 
Which  every  mom  his  fever'd  lip  would  greet, 
From  hers,  who  but  with  friendship  his  would  meet; 
But  to  that  gentle  touch,  through  brain  and  breast 
Flash'd  the  thrill'd  spirit's  love-devouring  heat ; 
In  that  absorbing  sigh  perchance  more  blest 
Than  vulgar  minds  may  be  with  all  they  seek  possest.2 

ioned,  indelicate,  sour,  gloomy,  ferocious  medley  of  pedantry  and 
lewdness ;  of  metaphysical  speculations,  blended  with  the  coarsest 
sensuality.'  " — SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.] 

1  This  refers  to  the  account  in  his  "  Confessions"  of  his  passion 
for  the  Comtesse  d'Houdetot,  (the  mistress  of  St.  Lambert,)  and 
his  long  walk  every  morning,  for  the  sake  of  the  single  kiss  which 
was  the  common  salutation  of  French  acquaintance.  Rousseau's 
description  of  his  feelings  on  this  occasion  may  be  considered  as 
the  most  passionate,  yet  not  impure,  description  and  expression  of 
love  that  ever  kindled  into  words;  which,  after  all,  must  be  felt, 
from  their  very  force,  to  be  inadequate  to  the  delineation:  a  pain- 
ting can  give  no  sufficient  idea  of  the  ocean. 
^V"  Lord  Byron's  character  of  Rousseau  is  drawn  with  great 
force,  great  power  of  discrimination,  and  great  eloquence.  I  know 
not  that  he  says  any  thing  which  has  not  been  said  before : — but 
what  he  says  issues,  apparently,  from  the  recesses  of  his  own  mind. 
It  is  a  little  laboured,  which,  possibty,  maybe  caused  by  the  form 
of  the  stanza  into  which  it  was  necessary  to  threw  it;  but  it 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  1 53 

JLXXX. 

His  life  was  one  long  war  with  self-sought  foes, 
Or  friends  by  him  self-banish'd;  for  his  mind 
Had  grown  Suspicion's  sanctuary,  and  chose, 
For  its  own  cruel  sacrifice,  the  kind 
'Gainst  whom  he  raged  with  fury  strange  and  blind. 
But  he  was  frenzied, — wherefore,  who  may  know? 
Since  cause  might  be  which  skill  could  never  find; 
But  he  was  frenzied  by  disease  or  woe,       [show. 
To  that  worst  pitch  of  all,  which  wears  a  reasoning 

I.XXXI. 

For  then  he  was  inspired,  and  from  him  came, 
As  from  the  Pythian's  mystic  cave  of  yore, 
Those  oracles  which  set  the  world  in  flame, 
Nor  ceased  to  burn  till  kingdoms  were  no  more  : 
Did  he  not  this  for  France  ?  which  lay  before 
Bow'd  to  the  inborn  tyranny  of  years  ? 
Broken  and  trembling  to  the  yoke  she  bore, 
Till  by  the  voice  of  him  and  his  compeers,     [fears? 
Roused  up  to  too  much  wrath,  which  folio  wso'ergrown 

LXXXII. 

They  made  themselves  a  fearful  monument ! 
The  wreck  of  old  opinions — things  which  grew, 
Breathed  from  the  birth  of  time:  the  veil  they  rent, 
And  what  behind  it  lay,  all  earth  shall  view. 
But  good  with  ill  they  also  overthrew, 
Leaving  but  ruins,  wherewith  to  rebuild 
Upon  the  same  foundation,  and  renew 
Dungeons  and  thrones,  which  the  same  hour  refill'd, 
As  heretofore,  because  ambition  was  self-will'd. 

cannot  be  doubted  that  the  poet  felt  a  sympathy  for  the  enthu- 
siastic tenderness  of  Rousseau's  genius,  which  he  could  not  have 
recognised  with  such  extreme  fervour,  except  from  a  consciousness 
of  having  at  least  occasionally  experienced  similar  emotions."- - 
SIR  E.  BRYDGES.] 


154  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  III. 

LXXXIII. 

But  this  will  not  endure,  nor  be  endured  ! 
Mankind  have  felt  their  strength,  and  made  it  felt. 
They  might  have  used  it  better,  but,  allured 
By  their  new  vigour,  sternly  have  they  dealt 
On  one  another ;  pity  ceased  to  melt 
With  her  once  natural  charities.     But  they, 
Who  in  oppression's  darkness  caved  had  dwelt, 
They  were  not  eagles,  nourish'd  with  the  day ; 
What  marvel  then,  at  times,  if  they  mistook  their 
prey? 

LXXXIV. 

What  deep  wounds  ever  closed  without  a  scar  ? 
The  heart's  bleed  longest,  and  but  heal  to  wear 
That  which  disfigures  it;  and  they  who  war 
With  their  own  hopes,  and  have  been  vanquished. 

bear 

Silence,  but  not  submission  :  in  his  lair 
Fix'd  Passion  holds  his  breath,  until  the  hour 
Which  shall  atone  for  years ;  none  need  despair : 
It  came,  it  cometh,  and  will  come, — the  power 
To  punish  or  forgive — in  one  we  shall  be  slower. 

LXXXV. 

Clear,  placid  Leman  !  thy  contrasted  lake, 
With  the  wild  world  I  dwelt  in,  is  a  thing 
Which  warns  me,  with  its  stillness,  to  forsake 
Earth's  troubled  waters  for  a  purer  spring. 
This  quiet  sail  is  as  a  noiseless  wing 
To  waft  me  from  distraction  ;  once  I  loved 
Torn  ocean's  roar,  but  thy  soft  murmuring 
Sounds  sweet  as  if  a  sister's  voice  reproved, 
That  1  with  stern  delights  should  e'er  have  been  so 
moved. 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  155 

LXXXVI. 

It  is  the  hush  of  night,  and  all  between 
Thy  margin  and  the  mountains,  dusk,  yet  clear, 
Mellow'd  and  mingling,  yet  distinctly  seen, 
Save  darken'd  Jura,  whose  capt  heights  appear 
Precipitously  steep  ;  and,  drawing  near, 
There  breathes  a  living  fragrance  from  the  shore, 
Of  flowers  yet  fresh  with  childhood  ;  on  the  ear 
Drops  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar, 
Or  chirps  the  grasshopper  one  good-night  carol  more  : 

LXXXVII. 

He  is  an  evening  reveller,  who  makes 
His  life  an  infancy,  and  sings  his  fill ; 
At  intervals,  some  bird  from  out  the  brakes 
Starts  into  voice  a  moment,  then  is  still. 
There  seems  a  floating  whisper  on  the  hill, 
But  that  is  fancy,  for  the  starlight  dews 
All  silently  their  tears  of  love  instil, 
Weeping  themselves  away,  till  they  infuse 
Deep  into  Nature's  breast  the  spirit  of  her  hues.1 

1  [During  Lord  Byron's  stay  in  Switzerland,  he  took  up  his 
residence  at  the  Campagne-Diodati,  in  the  village  of  Coligny.  It 
stands  at  the  top  of 'a  rapidly  descending  vineyard;  the  windows 
commanding,  one  way,  a  noble  view  of  the  lake  and  of  Geneva ; 
the  other,  up  the  lake.  Every  evening,  the  poet  embarked  on  the 
lake;  and  to  the  feelings  created  by  these  excursions  we  owe  these 
delightful  stanzas.  Of  his  mode  of  passing  a  day,  the  following, 
from  his  Journal,  is  a  pleasant  specimen: — 

"  September  18.  Called.  Got  up  at  five.  Stopped  at  Vevay 
two  hours.  View  from  the  churchyard  superb ;  within  it  Ludlow 
(the  regicide's)  monument — black  marble — long  inscription; 
Latin,  but  simple.  Near  him  Broughton  (who  read  King 
Charles's  sentence  to  Charles  Stuart)  is  buried,  with  a  queer 
and  rather  canting  inscription.  Ludlow's  house  shown. 
Walked  down  to  the  lake  side ;  servants,  carriages,  saddle- 
horses, — all  set  off,  and  left  us  planles  Id,  by  some  mistake. 
Hobhouse  ran  on  before,  and  overtook  them.  Arrived  at  Clarens. 
Went  to  Chillon  through  scenery  worthy  of  I  know  not  whom. 


156  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  III. 

LXXXVIII. 

Ye  stars  which  are  the  poetry  of  heaven  ! 
If  in  your  bright  leaves  we  would  read  the  fate 
Of  men  and  empires, — 'tis  to  be  forgiven, 
That  in  our  aspirations  to  be  great, 
Our  destinies  o'erleap  their  mortal  state, 
And  claim  a  kindred  with  you  ;  for  ye  are 
A  beauty  and  a  mystery,  and  create 
In  us  such  love  and  reverence  from  afar, 
That  fortune,  fame,  power,  life,  have  named  them- 
selves a  star. 

LXXXIX. 

All  heaven  and  earth  are  still — though  not  in  sleep, 
But  breathless,  as  we  grow  when  feeling  most ; 
And  silent,  as  we  stand  in  thoughts  too  deep  : — 
All  heaven  and  earth  are  still :  From  the  high  host 
Of  stars,  to  the  lull'd  lake  and  mountain-coast, 
All  is  concenter'd  in  a  life  intense, 
Where  not  a  beam,  nor  air,  nor  leaf  is  lost, 
But  hath  a  part  of  being,  and  a  sense 
Of  that  which  is  of  all  Creator  and  defence. 


went  over  the  castle  again.  Met  an  English  party  in  a  carriage ; 
a  lady  in  it  fast  asleep — fast  asleep  in  the  most  anti-narcotic  spot 
in  the  world, — excellent !  after  a  slight  and  short  dinner,  visited 
the  Chateau  de  Clarens.  Saw  all  worth  seeing,  and  then  de- 
scended to  the  '  Bosquet  de  Julie,'  &c.  &c. :  our  guide  full  of 
Rousseau,  whom  he  is  eternally  confound  ing  with  St.  Preux,  and 
mixing  the  man  and  the  book.  Went  again  as  far  as  Chillon,  to 
revisit  the  little  torrent  from  the  hill  behind  it.  The  corporal 
who  showed  the  wonders  of  Chillon  was  as  drunk  as  Blucher,  and 
(to  my  mind)  as  great  a  man :  he  was  deaf  also  ;  and,  thinking 
every  one  else  so,  roared  out  the  legends  of  the  castle  so  fearfully, 
that  Hobhouse  got  out  of  humour.  However,  we  saw  things  from 
the  gallows  to  the  dungeons.  Sunset  reflected  in  the  lake.  Nino 
o  clock — g'Jing  to  bed.  Have  to  get  up  at  five  to-morrow."]— 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  157 

xc. 

Then  stirs  the  feeling  infinite,  so  felt 
In  solitude,  where  we  are  least  alone ; 
A  truth  which  through  our  being  then  doth  melt, 
And  purifies  from  self:  it  is  a  tone, 
The  soul  and  source  of  music,  which  makes  known 
Eternal  harmony,  and  sheds  a  charm 
Like  to  the  fabled  Cytherea's  zone, 
Binding  all  things  with  beauty  ; — 'twould  disarm 
The   spectre   Death,  had   he   substantial  power  to 
harm. 

xci. 

Not  vainly  did  the  early  Persian  make 
His  altar  the  high  places  and  the  peak 
Of  earth-o'ergazing  mountains,1  and  thus  take 
A  fit  and  unwall'd  temple,  there  to  seek 
The  Spirit  in  whose  honour  shrines  are  weak, 
Uprear'd  of  human  hands.     Come,  and  compare 
Columns  and  idol-dwellings,  Goth  or  Greek, 
With  Nature's  realms  of  worship,  earth  and  air, 
Nor  fix  on  fond  abodes  to  circumscribe  thy  prayer ! 

xcii. 
The  sky  is  changed — and   such  a  change !     Oh 

night, 

And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman  !  Far  along, 
From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among 
Leaps  the  live  thunder !     Not  from  one  lone  cloud. 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue, 
And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud  ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  [F]. 
14 


153  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  III. 

XCIII. 

And  this  is  in  the  night : — Most  glorious  night ! 
Thou  wert  not  sent  for  slumber  !  let  me  be 
A  sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  far  delight, — 
A  portion  of  the  tempest  and  of  thee  !l 
How  the  lit  lake  shines,  a  phosphoric  sea, 
And  the  big  rain  comes  dancing  to  the  earth  ! 
And  now  again  'tis  black, — and  now,  the  glee 
Of  the  loud  hills  shakes  with  its  mountain-mirth, 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  o'er  a  young  earthquake's  birth.2 

xciv. 
Now,  where  the  swift  Rhone  cleaves  his  way  be 

tween 

Heights  which  appear  as  lovers  who  have  parted 
In  hate,  whose  mining  depths  so  intervene, 
That  they  can  meet  no    more;   though  broken- 
hearted ;  [thwarted, 
Though  in   their   souls,  which  thus  each  other 
Love  was  the  very  root  of  the  fond  rage 
Which  blighted  their  life's  bloom,  and  then  de- 
parted : — 

Itself  expired,  but  leaving  them  an  age 
Of  years  all  winters, — war  within  themselves  to  wage. 

1  The  thunder-storm  to  which  these  lines  refer  occurred  on  the 
13th  of  June,  1816,  at  midnight.    I  have  seen  among  the  Acroce- 
raunian  mountains  of  Chimari,  several  more  terrible,  but  none 
more  beautiful. 

2  [This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  passages  of  the  poem. 
The  "  fierce  and  far  delight"  of  a  thunder-storm  is  here  described 
in  verse  almost  as  vivid  as  its  lightnings.     The  live  thunder 
''  leaping  among  the  rattling  crags" — the  voice  of  mountains,  as 
if  shouting  to  each  other — the  plashing  of  the   big  rain — the 
gleaming  of  the  wide  lake,  lighted  like  a  phosphoric  sea — present 
a  picture  of  sublime  terror,  yet  of  enjoyment,  often  attempted,  but 
never  so  well,  certainly  never  better,  brought  out  in  poetry. — 
SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.] 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  159 

xcv. 

Now,  where  the  quick  Rhone  thus  hath  cleft  his  way, 
The  mightiest  of  the  storms  hath  ta'en  his  stand: 
For  here,  not  one,  but  many,  make  their  play, 
And  fling  their  thunderbolts  from  hand  to  hand, 
Flashing  and  cast  around  :  of  all  the  band, 
The  brightest  through  these  parted  hills  hath  fork'a 
His  lightnings, — as  if  he  did  understand, 
That  in  such  gaps  as  desolation  work'd, 
There  the  hot  shaft  should  blast  whatever  therein 
lurk'd. 

XCVI. 

Sky,  mountains,  river,  winds,  lake,  lightnings!  ye! 
With  night,  and  clouds,  and  thunder,  and  a  soul, 
To  make  these  felt  and  feeling,  well  may  be 
Things  that  have  made  me  watchful ;  the  far  roll 
Of  your  departed  voices,  is  the  knoll 
Of  what  in  me  is  sleepless, — if  I  rest.1 
But  where  of  ye,  oh  tempests !  is  the  goal  ? 
Are  ye  like  those  within  the  human  breast  ? 
Or  do  ye  find  at  length,  like  eagles,  some  high  nest  ? 

1  [The  Journal  of  his  Swiss  tour,  which  Lord  Byron  kept  for 
his  sister,  closes  with  the  following  mournful  passage: — "In  the 
weather,  for  this  tour,  of  thirteen  days,  I  have  been  very  fortunate 
— fortunate  in  a  companion"  (Mr.  Hobhouse) — "  fortunate  in  our 
prospects,  and  exempt  from  even  the  little  petty  accidents  and 
delays  which  often  render  journeys  in  a  less  wild  country  disap- 
pointing. I  was  disposed  to  be  pleased.  I  am  a  lover  of  nature, 
and  an  admirer  of  beauty.  I  can  bear  fatigue,  and  welcome  pri- 
vation, and  have  seen  some  of  the  noblest  views  in  the  world. 
But  in  all  this, — the  recollection  of  bitterness,  and  more  especially 
of  recent  and  more  home  desolation,  which  must  accompany  me 
through  life,  has  preyed  upon  me  here ;  and  neither  the  music 
of  the  shepherd,  the  crashing  of  the  avalanche,  nor  the  torrent, 
the  mountain,  the  glacier,  the  forest,  nor  the  cloud,  have  for  one 
moment  lightened  the  weight  upon  my  heart,  nor  enabled  me  tc 
lose  my  own  wretched  identity,  in  the  majesty,  and  the  power,  and 
the  glory,  around,  above,  and  beneath  me."] 


ICO  CHILDE    HAROLD'S         CANTO  III. 

XCVII. 

Could  I  imbody  and  unbosom  now 
That  which  is  most  within  me, — could  I  wreak 
My  thoughts  upon  expression,  and  thus  throw 
Soul,  heart,  mind,passions,feelings,strong  or  weak, 
All  that  I  would  have  sought,  and  all  I  seek, 
Bear,  know,  feel,  and  yet  breathe — into  one  word, 
And  that  one  word  were  Lightning,!  would  speak; 
But  as  it  is,  I  live  and  die  unheard, 
With  a  most  voiceless  thought,  sheathing  it  as  a  sword. 

XCVIII. 

The  morn  is  up  again,  the  dewy  morn, 
With  breath  all  incense,  and  with  cheek  all  bloom, 
Laughing  the  clouds  away  with  playful  scorn, 
And  living  as  if  earth  contained  no  tomb, — 
And  glowing  into  day:  we  may  resume 
The  march  of  our  existence  :  and  thus  I, 
Still  on  thy  shores,  fair  Leman !  may  find  room 
And  food  for  meditation,  nor  pass  by 
Much,  that  may  give  us  pause,  if  ponder'd  fittingly. 

xcix. 

Clarens  !  sweet  Clarens,1  birthplace  of  deep  Love  ! 
Thine  air  is  the  young  breath  of  passionate  thought; 
Thy  trees  take  root  in  Love  ;  the  snows  above 
The  very  glaciers  have  his  colours  caught, 
And  sunset  into  rose-hues  sees  them  wrought 

1  [Stanzas  xcix.  to  cxv.  are  exquisite.  They  have  every  thing 
which  makes  a  poetical  picture  of  local  and  particular  scenery 
perfect.  They  exhibit  a  miraculous  brilliancy  and  force  of  fancy ; 
but  the  very  fidelity  causes  a  little  constraint  and  labour  ol 
language.  The  poet  seems  to  have  been  so  engrossed  by  the 
attention  to  give  vigour  and  fire  to  the  imagery,  that  he  both  neg- 
lected and  disdained  to  render  himself  more  harmonious  by  diffuser 
words,  which,  while  they  might  have  improved  the  effect  upon  the 
ear,  might  have  weakened  the  impression  upon  the  mind.  This 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  161 

By  rays  which  sleep  there  lovingly  :  the  rocks, 
The  permanent  crags,  tell  here  of  Love,  who  sought 
In  them  a  refuge  from  the  worldly  shocks, 
Which  stir  and  sting  the  soul  with  hope  that  woos, 
then  mocks. 

c. 

Clarens  !  by  heavenly  feet  thy  paths  are  trod, — 
Undying  Love's,  who  here  ascends  a  throne 
To  which  the  steps  are  mountains :  where  the  god 
Is  a  pervading  life  and  light, — so  shown 
Not  on  those  summits  solely,  nor  alone 
In  the  still  cave  and  forest ;  o'er  the  flower 
His  eye  is  sparkling,  and  his  breath  hath  blown, 
His  soft  and  summer  breath,  whose  tender  power 
Passes  the  strength  of  storms  in  their  most  desolate 
hour.1 

or. 

All  things  are  here  of  him  ;  from  the  black  pines, 
Which  are  his  shade  on  high,  and  the  loud  roar 
Of  torrents,  where  he  listeneth,  to  the  vines 
Which  slope  his  green  path  downward  to  the  shore, 
Where  the  bow'd  waters  meet  him,  and  adore, 
Kissing  his  feet  with  murmurs ;  and  the  wood, 
The  covert  of  old  trees  with  trunks  all  hoar, 
But  light  leaves,youngas  joy,  stands  where  it  stood, 
Offering  to  him,  and  his,  a  populous  solitude. 

mastery  over  new  matter — this  supply  of  powers  equal  not  only 
to  an  untouched  subject,  but  that  subject  one  of  peculiar  and  un- 
equalled  grandeur  and  beauty — was  sufficient  to  occupy  the 
strongest  poetical  faculties,  young  as  the  author  was,  without 
adding  to  it  all  the  practical  skill  of  the  artist.     The  stanzas,  too 
on  Voltaire  and  Gibbon  are  discriminative,  sagacious,  and  just. 
They  are  among  the  proofs  of  that  very  great  variety  of  talen 
•which  this  Canto  of  Lord  Byrcn  exhibits. — SIR  E.  BRYDGES.J 
1  See  Appendix,  note  [GJ. 

14* 


162  CH1LDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  III. 

en. 

A  populous  solitude  of  bees  and  birds, 
And  fairy-form'd  and  many-colour'd  things, 
Who   worship  him  with  notes  more  sweet  than 

words, 

And  innocently  open  their  glad  wings, 
Fearless  and  full  of  life  :  the  gush  of  springs, 
And  fall  of  lofty  fountains,  and  the  bend 
Of  stirring  branches,  and  the  bud  which  brings 
The  swiftest  thought  of  beauty,  here  extend, 
Mingling  and  made  by  Love,  unto  one  mighty  end. 

cm. 
He  who  hath  loved  not,  here  would  learn  that 

lore, 

And  make  his  heart  a  spirit ;  he  who  knows 
That  tender  mystery,  will  love  the  more, 
For  this  is  Love's  recess,  where  vain  men's  woes, 
And  the  world's  waste,  have  driven  him  far  from 

those, 

For  'tis  his  nature  to  advance  or  die ; 
He  stands  not  still,  but  or  decays,  or  grows 
Into  a  boundless  blessing,  which  may  vie 
With  the  immortal  lights,  in  its  eternity  ! 

civ. 

'Twas  not  for  fiction  chose  Rousseau  this  spot, 
Peopling  it  with  affections;  but  he  found 
It  was  the  scene  which  passion  must  allot 
To  the  mind's  purified  beings ;  'twas  the  ground 
Where  early  Love  his  Psyche's  zone  unbound, 
And  hallow'd  it  with  loveliness  :  'tis  lone, 
And  wonderful,  and  deep,  and  hath  a  sound, 
And  sense,  and  sight  of  sweetness;  here  the  Rhone 
Hath  spread  himself  a  couch,  the  Alps  have  rear'd  a 
throne 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  163 

cv. 

Lausanne  !  and  Ferney!  ye  have  been  the  abodes 
Of  names  which  unto  you  bequeath'd  a  name;1 
Mortals,  who  sought  and  found,  by  dangerous  roads, 
A  path  to  perpetuity  of  fame  : 
They  were  gigantic  minds,  and  their  steep  aim 
Was,  Titan-like,  on  daring  doubts  to  pile 
Thoughts  which  should  call  down  thunder,  and  the 

flame 

Of  Heaven,  again  assail'd  if  Heaven  the  while 
On  man  and  man's  research  could  deign  do  more 

than  smile. 

cvi. 

The  one  was  fire  and  fickleness,  a  child, 
Most  mutable  in  wishes,  but  in  mind, 
A  wit  as  various, — gay,  grave,  sage,  or  wild, — 
Historian,  bard,  philosopher,  combined; 
He  multiplied  himself  among  mankind, 
The  Proteus  of  their  talents :  But  his  own 
Breathed  most  in  ridicule, — which,  as  the  wind, 
Blew  where  it  listed,  laying  all  things  prone, — 
Now  to  o'erthrow  a  fool,  and  now  to  shake  a  throne. 

cvn. 

The  other,  deep  and  slow,  exhausting  thought, 
And  hiving  wisdom  with  each  studious  year, 
In  meditation  dwelt,  with  learning  wrought, 
And  shaped  his  weapon  with  an  edge  severe, 
Sapping  a  solemn  creed  with  solemn  sneer  ; 
The  lord  of  irony, — that  master-spell, 
Which  stung  his  foes  to  wrath,  which  grew  from 

fear, 

And  doom'd  him  to  the  zealot's  ready  hell, 
Which  answers  to  all  doubts  so  eloquently  well. 

1  Voltaire  and  Gibbon. 


164  CHILDE   HAROLD'S  CANTO  III. 

CVIII. 

Yet  peace  be  with  their  ashes, — for  by  them, 

If  merited,  the  penalty  is  paid ; 

It  is  not  ours  to  judge. — far  less  condemn  : 

The  hour  must  come  when  such  things  shall  be 

made 

Known  unto  all, — or  hope  arid  dread  allay'd 
By  slumber,  on  one  pillow, — in  the  dust, 
Which,  thus  much  we  are  sure,  must  lie  decay'd ; 
And  when  it  shall  revive,  as  is  our  trust, 
'Twill  be  to  be  forgiven,  or  suffer  what  is  just. 

cix. 

But  let  me  quit  man's  works,  again  to  read 
His  Maker's,  spread  around  me,  and  suspend 
This  page,  which  from  my  reveries  I  feed, 
Until  it  seems  prolonging  without  end. 
The  clouds  above  me  to  the  white  Alps  tend, 
And  I  must  pierce  them,  and  survey  whate'er 
May  be  permitted  as  my  steps  I  bend 
To  their  most  great  and  growing  region,  where 
The  earth  to  her  embrace  compels  the  powers  of 
air. 

ex. 

Italia  !  too,  Italia  !  looking  on  thee, 
Full  flashes  on  the  soul  the  light  of  ages, 
Since  the  fierce  Carthaginian  almost  won  thee, 
To  the  last  halo  of  the  chiefs  and  sages 
Who  glorify  thy  consecrated  pages  ; 
Thou  wert  the  throne  and  grave  of  empires;  still, 
The  fount  at  which  the  panting  mind  assuages 
Her  thirst  of  knowledge,  quaffing  there  her  fill, 
Flows  from  the  eternal  source  of  Rome's  imperia. 
hill 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  1C5 

cxi. 

Thus  far  have  T  proceeded  in  a  theme 
Renew'd  with  no  kind  auspices  : — to  feel 
We  are  not  what  we  have  been,  and  to  deem 
We  are  not  what  we  should  be, — and  to  steel 
The  heart  against  itself;  and  to  conceal, 
With  a  proud  caution,  love,  or  hate,  or  aught, — 
Passion  or  feeling,  purpose,  grief,  or  zeal, — 
Which  is  the  tyrant  spirit  of  our  thought, 
Is  a  stern  task  of  soul : — No  matter, — it  is  taught. 

cxn. 

And  for  these  words,  thus  woven  into  song, 
It  may  be  that  they  are  a  harmless  wile, — 
The  colouring  of  the  scenes  which  fleet  along, 
Which  I  would  seize,  in  passing,  to  beguile 
My  breast,  or  that  of  others,  for  a  while. 
Fame  is  the  thirst  of  youth, — but  I  am  not 
So  young  as  to  regard  men's  frown  or  smile, 
As  loss  or  guerdon  of  a  glorious  lot; 
I  stood  and  stand  alone, — remember'd  or  forgot. 

cxm. 

I  have  not  loved  the  world,  nor  the  world  me ; 
I  have  not  flatter'd  its  rank  breath,  nor  bow'd 
To  its  idolatries  a  patient  knee, — 
Nor  coin'd  my  cheek  to  smiles, — nor  cried  aloud 
In  worship  of  an  echo ;  in  the  crowd 
They  could  not  deem  me  one  of  such ;  I  stood 
Among  them,  but  not  of  them  ;  in  a  shroud 
Of  thoughts  which  were  not  their  thoughts,  and  still 

could, 
Had  I  not  filed1  my  mind,  which  thus  itself  subdued. 


"If  it  be  thus, 


For  Banquo's  issue  have  I  fikd  my  mind." — MACBETH. 


166  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  III. 

CXIV. 

I  have  not  loved  the  world,  nor  the  world  me, — 
But  let  us  part  fair  foes;  I  do  believe, 
Though  I  have  found  them  not,  that  there  maybe 
Words  which  are  things, — hopes  which  will  not  de- 
And  virtues  which  are  merciful,  nor  weave  [ceive, 
Snares  for  the  failing :  I  would  also  deem 
O'er  others'  griefs  that  some  sincerely  grieve  ;x 
That  two,  or  one,  are  almost  what  they  seem, — 
That  goodness  is  no  name,  and  happiness  no  dream.8 

1  It  is  said  byRochefoucault, that  "there  is  always  something 
in  the  misfortunes  of  men's  best  friend  snot  displeasing  to  them." 

2  ["It  is  not  the  temper  and  talents  of  the  poet,  but  the  use  to 
which  he  puts  them,  on  which  his  happiness  or  misery  is  grounded. 
A  powerful  and  unbridled  imagination  is  the  author  and  architect 
of  its  own  disappointments.     Its  fascinations,  its   exaggerated 
pictures  of  good  and  evil,  and  the  mental  distress  to  which  they 
give  rise,  are  the  natural  and  necessary  evils  attending  on  that 
quick  susceptibility  of  feeling  and  fancy  incident  to  the  poetical 
temperament.    But  the  Giver  of  all  talents,  while  he  has  qualified 
them  each  with  its  separate  and  peculiar  alloy,  has  endowed  the 
owner  with  the  power  of  purifying  and  refining  them.     But,  as  if 
to  moderate  the  arrogance  of  genius,  it  is  justly  and  wisely  made 
requisite,  that  he  must  regulate  and  tame  the  fire  of  his  fancy,  and 
descend  from  the  heights  to  which  she  exalts  him,  in  order  to 
obtain  ease  of  mind  and  tranquillity.     The  materials  of  happi- 
ness, that  is,  of  such  degree  of  happiness  as  is  consistent  with  our 
present  state,  lie  around  us  in  profusion.     But  the  man  of  talents 
must  stoop  to  gather  them,  otherwise  they  would  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  mass  of  society,  for  whose  benefit,  as  well  as  for  his, 
Providence  has  created  them.     There  is  no  royal  and  no  poetical 
path  to  contentment  and  heart's  ease :  that  by  which  they  are 
attained  is  open  to  all  classes  of  mankind,  and  lies  within  the  most 
limited  range  of  intellect.     To  narrow  our  wishes  and  desires 
within  the  scope  of  our  powers  of  attainment;  to  consider  our 
misfortunes,  however  peculiar  in  their  character,  as  our  inevitable 
share  in  the  patrimony  of  Adam  ;  to  bridle  those  irritable  feelings, 
which  ur.governed  are  sure  to  become  governors;  to  shun  that 
intensity  of  galling  and  self-wounding  reflection  which  our  poet 
has  so  forcibly  described  in  its  own  burning  language : — 


CANTO  III.  PILGRIMAGE.  167 

cxv. 

My  daughter  !  with  thy  name  this  song  begun — 
My  daughter!   with  thy  name  thus  much  shall 

end — 

I  see  thee  not — I  hear  thee  not, — but  none 
Can  be  so  wrapt  in  thee  ;  thou  art  the  friend 
To  whom  the  shadows  of  far  years  extend  : 
Albeit  my  brow  thou  never  shouldst  behold, 
My  voice  shall  with  thy  future  visions  blend, 
And  reach  into  thy  heart, — when  mind  is  cold — 
A.  token  and  a  tone,  even  from  thy  father's  mould. 

cxvi. 

To  aid  thy  mind's  development, — to  watch 
Thy  dawn  of  little  joys, — to  sit  and  see 
Almost  thy  very  growth, — to  view  thee  catch 
Knowledge  of  objects, — wonders  yet  to  thee  ! 
To  hold  thee  lightly  on  a  gentle  knee, 
And  print  on  thy  soft  cheek  a  parent's  kiss, — 
This,  it  should  seem,  was  not  reserved  for  me ; 
Yet  this  was  in  my  nature  : — as  it  is, 
I  know  not  what  is  there,  yet  something  like  to  this. 


<I  have  thought 

Too  long  and  darkly,  till  my  brain  became, 
In  its  own  eddy,  boiling  and  o'erwrought, 
A  whirling  gulf  of  fantasy  and  flame' 

— to  stoop,  in  short,  to  the  realities  of  life;  repent  if  we  have 
offended,  and  pardon  if  we  have  been  trespassed  against;  to  look 
on  the  world  less  as  our  foe  than  as  a  doubtful  and  capricious 
friend,  whose  applause  we  ought  as  far  as  possible  to  deserve,  but 
neither  to  court  nor  contemn — such  seem  the  most  obvious  and 
certain  means  of  keeping  or  regaining  mental  tranquillity. 

*  Semita  certe 
Tranquillae  per  virtutem  patet  unica  vitae." — SIR  W.  SCOTT.] 


168  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  III. 

cxvir. 

Yet,  though  dull  Hate  as  duty  should  be  taught, 
I  know  that  thou  wilt  love  me:  though  ray  name 
Should  be  shut  from  thee,  as  a  spell  still  fraught 
With  desolation, — and  a  broken  claim  : 
Though  the  grave  closed  between  us, — 'twere  th 

same, 

I  know  that  thou  wilt  love  me  ;  though  to  drain 
My  blood  from  out  thy  being  were  an  aim, 
And  an  attainment, — all  would  be  in  vain, — 
Still  thou  wouldst  love  me,  still  that  more  than  life 
retain. 

c  xviii. 

The  child  of  love, — though  born  in  bitterness, 
And  nurtured  in  convulsion.     Of  thy  sire 
These  were  the  elements, — and  thine  no  less. 
As  yet  such  are  around  thee, — but  thy  fire 
Shall  be  more  temper'd,  and  thy  hope  far  higher. 
Sweet  be  thy  cradled  slumbers!  O'er  the  sea, 
And  from  the  mountains  where  I  now  respire, 
Fain  would  I  waft  such  blessing  upon  thee, 
As,  with  a  sigh,  I  deem  thou  might'st  have  been  to 
me  I1 

1  ["Byron,  July  4th.  1816.    Diodati."— MS.] 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE 


CANTO    THE    FOURTH. 


Visto  ho  Toscana,  Lombardia,  Romagna, 

Quel  Monte  che  divide,  e  quel  che  serra 
Italia,  e  un  mare  e  1'  altro,  che  la  bagna. 

Jlriosto,  Satira  iii. 


15 


TO 

JOHN  HOBHOUSE,  ESQ.  A.M.  F.R.S 


P'em'ce,  January  2,  1818. 
Mr    DEAR    HOBHOUSE, 

AFTER  an  interval  of  eignt  years  between  the  compo- 
sition of  the  first  and  last  cantos  of  Childe  Harold,  the 
conclusion  of  the  poem  is  about  to  be  submitted  to  the 
public.  In  parting  with  so  old  a  friend,  it  is  not  extra- 
ordinary that  I  should  recur  to  one  still  older  and 
better,  —  to  one  who  has  beheld  the  birth  and  death  of 
the  other,  and  to  whom  I  am  far  more  indebted  for 
the  social  advantages  of  an  enlightened  friendship, 
than  —  though  not  ungrateful  —  I  can,  or  could  be,  to 
Childe  Harold,  for  any  public  favour  reflected  through 
the  poem  on  the  poet,  —  to  one,  whom  I  have  known 
long,  and  accompanied  far,  whom  I  have  found  wake- 
ful over  my  sickness,  and  kind  in  my  sorrow,  glad  in 
my  prosperity,  and  firm  in  my  adversity,  true  in  coun- 
sel and  trusty  in  peril,  —  to  a  friend  often  tried  and 
never  found  wanting  ;  —  to  yourself. 

In  so  doing,  I  recur  from  fiction  to  truth  ;  and  in 
dedicating  to  you  in  its  complete,  or  at  least  concluded 
state,  a  poetical  work  which  is  me  longest,  the  most 
thoughtful  and  comprehensive  of  my  compositions/  1 
wish  to  do  honour  to  myself  by  the  record  of  many 
years'  intimacy  with  a  man  of  learning,  of  talent,  of 

171 


172  DEDICATION. 

steadiness,  and  of  honour.  It  is  not  for  minds  like 
ours  to  give  or  to  receive  flattery ;  yet  the  praises  of 
sincerity  have  ever  been  permitted  to  the  voice  of 
friendship  ;  and  it  is  not  for  you,  nor  even  for  others, 
but  to  relieve  a  heart  which  has  not  elsewhere,  or  late- 
ly, been  so  much  accustomed  to  the  encounter  of  good- 
will as  to  withstand  the  shock  firmly,  that  I  thus 
attempt  to  commemorate  your  good  qualities,  or  rather 
the  advantages  which  I  have  derived  from  their  exer- 
tion. Even  the  recurrence  of  the  date  of  this  letter, 
the  anniversary  of  the  most  unfortunate  day  of  my 
past  existence,  but  which  cannot  poison  my  future 
while  I  retain  the  resource  of  your  friendship,  and  of 
my  own  faculties,  will  henceforth  have  a  more  agreea- 
ble recollection  for  both,  inasmuch  as  it  will  remind  us 
of  this  my  attempt  to  thank  you  for  an  indefatigable 
regard,  such  as  few  men  have  experienced,  and  no 
one  could  experience  without  thinking  better  of  his 
species  and  of  himself. 

It  has  been  our  fortune  to  traverse  together,  at  vari- 
ous periods,  the  countries  of  chivalry,  history,  and  fable 
— Spain,  Greece,  Asia  Minor,  and  Italy;  and  what 
Athens  and  Constantinople  were  to  us  a  few  years  ago, 
Venice  and  Rome  have  been  more  recently.  The 
poem  also,  or  the  pilgrim,  or  both,  have  accompanied 
me  from  first  to  last;  and  perhaps  it  may  be  a  pardon- 
able vanity  which  induces  me  to  reflect  with  compla- 
cency on  a  composition  which  in  some  degree  connects 
me  with  the  spot  where  it  was  produced,  and  the  ob- 
jects it  would  fain  describe;  and  however  unworthy  it 
may  be  deemed  of  those  magical  and  memorable 
abodes,  however  short  it  may  fall  of  our  distant  con- 
ceptions and  immediate  impressions,  yet  as  a  mark  of 
respect  for  what  is  venerable,  and  of  feeling  for  what 
is  glorious,  it  has  been  to  me  a  source  of  pleasure  in 
the  production,  and  I  part  with  it  with  a  kind  of  regret, 


DEDICATION.  173 

which  I  hardly  suspected  that  events  could  have  left 
me  for  imaginary  objects. 

With  regard  to  the  conduct  of  the Jast^ canto,  there 
•will  be  found  tesjSjpf  tjiej^^ir^  t^^^ 
ceding,  and  that  little  slightly,  if  at  all,  separated  from 
the  author  speaking  in  his  own  person.  The  fact  is, 
that  I  had  become  weary  of  drawing  a  line  which 
every  one  seemed  determined  not  to  perceive :  like  the 
Chinese  in  Goldsmith's  "Citizen  of  the  World,"  whom 
nobody  would  believe  to  be  a  Chinese,  iiJW*ft.ia-Y,ain 
that  I  assertedj  and  imagined  that  I  had  drawn,  a  dis- 
tinction between,  the  author  and  the  pilgrim:  and  the 
very  anxiety  to  preserve  this  difference,  and  disap- 
pointment at  finding  it  unavailing,  so  far  crushed  my 
efforts  in  the  composition,  that  I  determined  to  aban- 
don it  altogether — and  have  done  so.  The  opinions 
which  have  been,  or  may  be,  formed  on  that  subject, 
are  now  a  matter  of  indifference :  the  work  is  to  depend 
on  itself,  and  not  on  the  writer;  and  the  author,  who 
has  no  resources  in  his  own  mind  beyond  the  reputa- 
tion, transient  or  permanent,  which  is  to  arise  from 
his  literary  efforts,  deserves  the  fate  of  authors. 

In  the  course  of  the  following  canto  it  was  my  inten- 
tion, either  in  the  text  or  in  the  notes,  to  have  touched 
n  pon  the  present  state  of  Italian  literature,  and  perhaps 
of  manners.  But  the  text,  within  the  limits  I  proposed, 
.1  soon  found  hardly  sufficient  for  the  labyrinth  of  ex- 
ternal objects,  and  the  consequent  reflections ;  and  for 
the  whole  of  the  notes,  excepting  a  few  of  the  short- 
est, I  am  indebted  to  yourself,  and  these  were  neces- 
sarily limited  to  the  elucidation  of  the  text. 

It  is  also  a  delicate,  and  no  very  grateful  task,  to 
dissert  upon  the  literature  and  manners  of  a  nation  so 
dissimilar:  and  requires  an  attention  and  impartiality 
which  would  induce  us — though  perhaps  no  inatten- 
tive observers,  nor  ignorant  of  the  language  or  customs 


is* 


174  DEDICATION. 

of  the  people  amongst  whom  we  have  recently  abode 
— to  distrust,  or  at  least  defer  our  judgment,  and  more 
narrowly  examine  our  information.  The  state  of  lite- 
rary, as  well  as  political  party, appears  to  run,  or  to  have 
run  so  high,  that  for  a  stranger  to  steer  impartially  be- 
tween them  is  next  to  impossible.  It  may  be  enough, 
then,  at  least  for  my  purpose,  to  quote  from  their  own 
beautiful  language — "Mi  pare  che  in  un  paese  tutto 
poetico,  che  vanta  la  lingua  la  piu  nobile  ed  insienie  la 
piu  dolce,  tutte  tutte  le  vie  diverse  si  possono  tentare,  e 
che  sinche  la  patria  di  Alfieri  e  di  Monti  non  ha  perdu- 
to  1'  antico  valore,  in  tutte  essa  dovrebbe  essere  la  pri- 
mal '  Italy  has  great  names  still — Canova,  Monti, 
Ugo  Foscolo,  Pindemonte,  Visconti,  Morelli,  Cicogna- 
ra,  Albrizzi,  Mezzophanti,  Mai,  Mustoxidi,  Aglietti, 
and  Vacca.  will  secure  to  the  present  generation  an 
honourable  place  in  most  of  the  departments  of  Art, 
Science, and  Belles  Lettres;  and  in  some  the  very  high- 
est— Europe — the  world  has  but  one  Canova. 

It  has  been  somewhere  said  by  Alfieri,  that  "  La 
pianta  uomo  nasce  piu  robusta  in  Italia  che  in  qualun- 
que  altra  terra — e  che  gli  stessi  atroci  delitti  che  vi  si 
commettono  ne  sono  una  prova."  Without  subscrib- 
ing to  the  latter  part  of  his  proposition,  a  dangerous 
doctrine,  the  truth  of  which  may  be  disputed  on  better 
grounds,  namely,  that  the  Italians  are  in  no  respect 
more  ferocious  than  their  neighbours,  that  man  must 
be  wilfully  blind,  or  ignorantly  heedless,  who  is  not 
struck  with  the  extraordinary  capacity  of  this  people, 
or,  if  such  a  word  be  admissible,  their  capabilities,  the 
facility  of  their  acquisitions,  the  rapidity  of  their  con 
ceptious,  the  fire  of  their  genius,  their  sense  of  beauty, 
and,  amidst  all  the  disadvantages  of  repeated  revolu- 
tions, the  desolation  of  battles,  and  the  despair  of  ages, 
their  still  unquenched  "longing  after  immortality," 
— the  immortality  of  independence.  And  when  we 


DEDICATION.  175 

ouii.\ves,  in  riding  round  the  walls  of  Rome,  heard 
the  simple  lament  of  the  labourers'  chorus,  "  Roma ! 
Roma!  Roma!  Roma  non  e  piu  come  era  prima,"  it 
was  difficult  not  to  contrast  this  melancholy  dirge  with 
the  bacchanal  roar  of  the  songs  of  exultation  still  yel- 
led from  the  London  taverns,  over  the  carnage  of 
Mont  St.  Jean,  and  the  betrayal  of  Genoa,  of  Italy, 
of  France,  and  of  the  world,  by  men  whose  conduct 
you  yourself  have  exposed  in  a  work  worthy  of  the 
better  days  of  our  history.  '  For  me, — 

"  Non  movero  mai  corda 
Ove  la  turba  di  sue  ciance  assorda." 

What  Italy  has  gained  by  the  late  transfer  of  na- 
tions, it  were  useless  for  Englishmen  to  inquire,  till  it 
becomes  ascertained  that  England  has  acquired  some- 
thing more  than  a  permanent  army  and  a  suspended 
Habeas  Corpus ;  it  is  enough  for  them  to  look  at 
home.  For  what  they  have  done  abroad,  and  espe- 
cially in  the  South,  "  Verily  they  will  have  their 
reward,"  and  at  no  very  distant  period. 

Wishing  you,  rny  dear  Hobhouse,  a  safe  and  agree- 
able return  to  that  country  whose  real  welfare  can  be 
dearer  to  none  than  to  yourself,  I  dedicate  to  you  this 
poem  in  its  completed  state;  and  repeat  once  more 
how  truly  I  am  ever, 

Your  obliged 

And  affectionate  friend, 

BYRON. 


CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE. 


CANTO    THE    FOURTH. 


I. 

I  STOOD  hi  Venice,  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  j1 
A  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand : 
I  saw  from  out  the  wave  her  structures  rise 
As  from  the  stroke  of  the  enchanter's  wand: 
A.  thousand  years  their  cloudy  wings  expand 
Around  me,  and  a  dying  glory  smiles 
O'er  the  far  times,  when  many  a  subject  land 
Look'd  to  the  winged  lion's  marble  piles, 
Where  Venice  sate  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred 
isles !  i/M'w 

TI. 

She  looks  a  sea  Cybele,  fresh  from  ocean,2 
Rising  with  her  tiara  of  proud  towers 
At  airy  distance,  with  majestic  motion, 
A  ruler  of  the  waters  and  their  powers : 
And  such  she  was; — her  daughters  had  their  dowers 
From  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  exhaustless  East 
Pour'd  in  her  lap  all  gems  in  sparkling  showers. 
In  purple  was  she  robed,  and  of  her  feast 
Monarchs  partook,  and  deem'd  their  dignity  increased. 

1  See  Appendix,  "  Historical  Notes,"  No.  I. 

8  Sabellicus,  describing  the  appearance  of  Venice,  has  made  use 
of  the  above  image,  which  would  not  be  poetical  were  it  not  truo. 
— "Quo  fit  ut  qui  supreme  urbem  contempletur,  turritam  tclluris 
imaginem  medio  Oceano  figuratam  se  putet  inspiccre." 

177 


178  CH1LDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV. 


In  Venice  Tasso's  echoes  are  no  more,1 
And  silent  rows  the  songless  gondoliei  ; 
Her  palaces  are  crumbling  to  the  shore, 
And  music  meets  not  always  now  the  ear  : 
Those  days  are  gone  —  but  beauty  still  is  here. 
States  fall,  arts  fade  —  but  Nature  doth  not  die, 
Nor  yet  forget  how  Venice  once  was  dear, 
The  pleasant  place  of  all  festivity, 
The  revel  of  the  earth,  the  masque  of  Italy  ! 

IV. 

But  unto  us  she  hath  a  spell  beyond 
Her  name  in  story,  and  her  long  array 
Of  mighty  shadows,  whose  dim  forms  despond 
Above  the  dogeless  city's  vanish'd  sway  ; 
Ours  is  a  trophy  which  will  not  decay 
With  the  Rialto  ;  Shylock  and  the  Moor, 
And  Pierre,  cannot  be  swept  or  worn  away  — 
The  keystones  of  the  arch  !  though  all  were  o'er, 
For  us  repeopled  were  the  solitary  shore. 

v. 

The  beings  of  the  mind  are  not  of  clay  ; 

Essentially  immortal,  they  create 

And  multiply  in  us  a  brighter  ray 

And  more  beloved  existence  :  that  which  Fate 

Prohibits  to  dull  life,  in  this  our  state 

Of  mortal  bondage,  by  these  spirits  supplied, 

First  exiles,  then  replaces  what  we  hate  ; 

Watering   the   heart   whose    early  flowers   have 

died, 
And  with  a  fresher  growth  replenishing  the  void. 

1  See  Appendix,  "Historical  Notes,"  No.  II. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  179 

VI. 

Such  is  the  refuge  of  our  youth  and  age, 
The  first  from  Hope,  the  last  from  Vacancy ; 
And  this  worn  feeling  peoples  many  a  page, 
And,  may  be,  that  which  grows  beneath  mine 

eye . 

Yet  there  are  things  whose  strong  reality 
Outshines  our  fairy-land  ;  in  shape  and  hues 
More  beautiful  than  our  fantastic  sky, 
And  the  strange  constellations  which  the  Muse 
O'er  her  wild  universe  is  skilful  to  diffuse  : 


VII. 

I  saw  or  dream'd  of  such, — but  let  them  go, — 
They  came  like  truth,  and  disappear'd  like  dreams; 
And  whatsoe'er  they  were — are  now  but  so : 
I  could  replace  them  if  I  would  ;  still  teems 
My  mind  with  many  a  form  which  aptly  seems 
Such  as  I  sought  for,  and  at  moments  found ; 
Let  these  too  go — for  waking  Reason  deems 
Such  overweening  phantasies  unsound, 
And  other  voices  speak,  and  other  sights  surround. 


VIII. 

I've  taught  me   other  tongues — and  in  strange 

eyes 

Have  made  me  not  a  stranger ;  to  the  mind 
Which  is  itself,  no  changes  bring  surprise ; 
Nor  is  it  harsh  to  make,  nor  hard  to  find 
A  country  with — ay,  or  without  mankind; 
Yet  was  I  born  where  men  are  proud  to  be, 
Not  without  cause ;  and  should  I  leave  behind 
The  inviolate  island  of  the  sage  and  free, 
And  seek  me  out  a  home  by  a  remoter  sea,; 


ISO  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

IX. 

Perhaps  I  loved  it  well ;  and  should  I  lay 
My  ashes  in  a  soil  which  is  not  mine, 
My  spirit  shall  resume  it — if  we  may 
Unbodied  choose  a  sanctuary.     I  twine 
My  hopes  of  being  remember'd  in  my  line 
With  my  land's  language  :  if  too  fond  and  far 
These  aspirations  in  their  scope  incline,-  - 
If  my  fame  should  be,  as  my  fortunes  are, 
Of  hasty  growth  and  blight,  and  dull  Oblivion  bar 

x. 

My  name  from  out  the  temple  where  the  dead 
Are  honour'd  by  the  nations — let  it  be — 
And  light  the  laurels  on  a  loftier  head ! 
And  be  the  Spartan's  epitaph  on  me — 
"  Sparta  hath  many  a  worthier  son  than  he."1 
Meantime  I  seek  no  sympathies,  nor  need ; 
The  thorns  which  I  have  reap'd  are  of  the  tree 
I  planted, — they  have  torn  me, — and  I  bleed  : 
I  should  have  known  what  fruit  would  spring  from 
such  a  seed. 

XI'  '  /     /7/ 

The  spouseless  Adriatic  mourns  her  lord  ; 

And,  annual  marriage  now  no  more  renew'd, 
The  Bucentaur  lies  rotting  unrestored, 
Neglected  garment  of  her  widowhood  !  /vj-c-# 

St.  Mark  yet  sees  his  lion  where  he  stood2 
Stand,  but  in  mockery  of  his  wither'd  power, 
Over  the  proud  Place  where  an  emperor  sued, 
And  monarchs  gazed  and  envied  in  the  hour 
When  Venice  was  a  queen  with  an  unequall'd  dower. 

1  The  answer  of  the  mother  of  Brasidas,  the  Lacedaemonian 
general,  to  the  strangers  who  praised  the  memory  of  her  son. 
3  See  Appendix,  "Historical  Notes,"  N.O.  III. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  181 

XII. 

The  Suabian  sued,  and  now  the  Austrian  reigns  —  ' 
An  emperor  tramples  where  an  emperor  knelt; 
Kingdoms  are  shrunk  to  provinces,  and  chains 
Clank  over  sceptred  cities  ;  nations  melt 
From  power's  high  pinnacle,  when  they  have  felt 
The  sunshine  for  a  while,  and  downward  go 
Like  lauwine  loosen'd  from  the  mountain's  belt  ; 
Oh  for  one  hour  of  blind  old  Dandolo 

•~ 

1  a'  octogenarian  chief,  Byzantium's  conquering  foe. 


XIII. 

Before  St.  Mark  still  glow  his  steeds  of  brass, 
Their  gilded  collars  glittering  in  the  sun  ;  '   ; 

But  is  not  Doria's  menace  come  to  pass?3 
Are  they  not  bridled?  —  Venice,  lost  and  won, 
Her  thirteen  hundred  years  of  freedom  done, 
Sinks,  like  a  sea-weed,  into  whence  she  rose  ! 
Better  be  whelm'd  beneath  the  waves,  and  shun, 
Even  in  destruction's  depth,  her  foreign  foes, 
From  whom  submission  wrings  an  infamous  repose. 

xiv. 

In  youth  she  was  all  glory,  —  a  new  Tyre,  — 
Her  very  by-word  sprung  from  victory, 
The  "  Planter  of  the  Lion,"4  which  through  fire 
And  blood  she  bore  o'er  subject  earth  and  sea  ; 
Though  making  many  slaves,  herself  still  free, 
And  Europe's  bulwark  'gainst  the  Ottomite  ; 
Witness  Troy's  rival,  Candia  !  Vouch  it,  ye 
Immortal  waves  that  saw  Lepanto's  fight  ! 
For  ye  are  names  no  time  nor  tyranny  can  blight. 

*,  s,  8  See  Appendix,  "  Historical  Notes,"  Nos.  IV.  V.  VI. 

4  That  is,  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark,  the  standard  of  the  republic 
vhio.h  is  the  origin  of  the  word  Pantaloon  —  Piantaleone,  Pan 
taleon,  Pantaloon. 

16 


182  CHILDE  HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV 


Statues  of  glass — all  shiver'd — the  long  file 
Of  her  dead  Doges  are  declined  to  dust ; 
But  where  they  dwelt,  the  vast  and  sumptuous  pile 
Bespeaks  the  pageaut  of  their  splendid  trust ; 
Their  sceptre  broken,  and  their  sword  in  rust, 
Have  yielded  to  the  stranger  :  empty  halls, 
Thin  streets,  and  foreign  aspects,  such  as  must 
Too  oft  remind  her  who  and  what  enthrals,1  O^ 
Have  flung  a  desolate  cloud  o'er  Venice'  lovely  walls. 


XVI. 

When  Athens'  armies  fell  at  Syracuse, 
And  fetter'd  thousands  bore  the  yoke  of  war, 
Redemption  rose  up  in  the  Attic  Muse,2 
Her  voice  their  only  ransom  from  afar  : 
See  !  as  they  chant  the  tragic  hymn,  the  car 
Of  the  o'ermaster'd  victor  stops,  the  reins 
Fall  from  his  hands — his  idle  scimitar 
Starts  from  its  belt — he  rends  his  captive's  chains, 
And  bids  him  thank  the  bard  for  freedom  and  his 
strains. 

XVII. 

Thus,  Venice,  if  no  stronger  claim  were  thine, 
Were  all  thy  proud  historic  deeds  forgot, 
Thy  choral  memory  of  the  bard  divine, 
Thy  love  of  Tasso,  should  have  cut  the  knot 
Which  ties  thee  to  thy  tyrants  ;  and  thy  lot 
Is  shameful  to  the  nations, — most  of  all, 
Albion  !  to  thee :  the  ocean  queen  should  not 
Abandon  ocean's  children  ;  in  the  fall 
Of  Venice  think  of  thine,  despite  thy  watery  wall. 

1  See  Appendix,  "  Historical  Notes,"  No.  VII. 
8  The  story  is  told  in  Plutarch's  Life  of  Nicias. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  183 

XVIII. 

I  loved  her  from  my  boyhood — she  to  me 
Was  as  a  fairy  city  of  the  heart, 
Rising  like  water-columns  from  the  sea, 
Of  joy  the  sojourn,  and  of  wealth  the  mart ; 
And  Otway,  Radcliffe,  Schiller,  Shakspeare's  art,1 
Had  stamp'd  her  image  in  me,  and  even  so, 
Although  I  found  her  thus,  we  did  not  part, 
Perchance  even  dearer  in  her  day  of  woe 
Than  when  she  was  a  boast,  a  marvel,  and  a  show. 

XIX. 

I  can  repeople  with  the  past — and  of 
The  present  there  is  still  for  eye  and  thought, 
And  meditation  chasten'd  down  enough  ; 
And  more,  it  may  be,  than  I  hoped  or  sought ; 
And  of  the  happiest  moments  which  were  wrought 
Within  the  web  of  my  existence,  some 
From  thee,  fair  Venice  !  have  their  colours  caught: 
There  are  some  feelings  Time  can  not  benumb, 
Nor  torture  shake,  or  mine  would  now  be  cold  and 
dumb. 

xx. 

But  from  their  nature  will  the  tannen  grow2 
Loftiest  on  loftiest  and  least  shelter'd  rocks, 
Rooted  in  barrenness,  where  naught  below 
Of  soil  supports  them  'gainst  the  Alpine  shocks 
Of  eddying  storms ;  yet  springs  the  trunk,  and  mocks 
The  howling  tempest,  till  its  height  and  frame 
Are  worthy  of  the  mountains  from  whose  blocks 
Of  bleak,  gray  granite  into  life  it  came, 
And  grew  a  giant  tree ; — the  mind  may  grow  the  same. 

1  Venice  Preserved ;  Mysteries  of  Udolpho  ;  the  Ghost-Seer, 
or  Armenian  ;  the  Merchant  of  Venice ;  Othello. 

*  Tannen  is  the  plural  of  tanne,  a  species  of  fir  peculiar  to  the 


184  C  HI  LDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV 

XXI. 

Existence  may  be  borne,  and  the  deep  root 
Oflife  and  sufferance  make  its  firm  abode 
In  bare  and  desolated  bosoms  :  mute 
The  camel  labours  with  the  heaviest  load, 
And  the  wolf  dies  in  silence, — not  bestow'd 
In  vain  should  such  example  be  ;  if  they, 
Things  of  ignoble  or  of  savage  mood, 
Endure  and  shrink  not,  we  of  nobler  clay 
May  temper  it  to  bear, — it  is  but  for  a  day.  , 

XXII. 

All  suffering  doth  destroy,  or  is  destroyed, 
Even  by  the  sufferer ;  and,  in  each  event, 
Ends: — Some,  with  hope  replenish'd  and  rebuoy'd, 
Return  to  whence  they  came — with  like  intent, 
And  weave  their  web  again ;  some,  bo  w'd  and  bent, 
Wax  gray  and  ghastly,  withering  ere  their  time, 
And  perish  with  the  reed  on  which  they  leant ; 
Some  seek  devotion,  toil,  war,  good  or  crime, 
According  as  their  souls  were  form'd  to  sink  or  climb. 

XXIII. 

But  ever  and  anon  of  griefs  subdued 
There  comes  a  token  like  a  scorpion's  sting, 
Scarce  seen  but  with  fresh  bitterness  imbued  ; 
And  slight  withal  may  be  the  things  which  bring 
Back  on  the  heart  the  weight  which  it  would  fling 
Aside  forever :  it  may  be  a  sound — 
A  tone  of  music — summer's  eve — or  spring — 
A    flower — the    wind — the    ocean — which    shall 
wound,  [bound ; 

Striking  the  electric  chain  wherewith  we  are  darkly 

Alps,  which  only  thrives  in  very  rocky  parts,  where  scarcely  soil 
sufficient  for  its  nourishment  can  he  found.  On  theso  spots  it 
grows  to  a  greater  height  than  any  other  mountain  tree. 


CAN-TO  IV.  P  I  L  G  R  I  M  A  G  E.  185 

XXIV. 

And  how  and  why  we  know  not,  nor  can  trace 
Home  to  its  cloud  this  lightning  of  the  mind, 
But  feel  the  shock  renew'd,  nor  can  efface 
The  blight  and  blackening  which  it  leaves  behind, 
Which  out  of  things  familiar,  undesign'd, 
When  least  we  deem  of  such,  calls  up  to  view 
The  spectres  whom  no  exorcism  can  bind, 
The  cold — the   changed — perchance   the   dead — 
anew,  [how  few! 

The  mourn'd,  the  loved,  the  lost — too  many  ! — yet 

XXV. 

But  my  soul  wanders ;  I  demand  it  back 
To  meditate  amongst  decay,  and  stand 
A  ruin  amidst  ruins ;  there  to  track 
Fallen  states  and  buried  greatness,  o'er  a  land 
Which  was  the  mightiest  in  its  old  command, 
And  is  the  loveliest,  and  must  ever  be 
The  master-mould  of  Nature's  heavenly  hand, 
Wherein  were  cast  the  heroic  and  the  free, 
The  beautiful,  the  brave — the  lords  of  earth  and  sea. 

XXVI. 

The  commonwealth  of  kings,  the  men  of  Rome  ! 
And  even  since,  and  now,  fair  Italy  ! 
Thou  art  the  garden  of  the  world,  the  home 
Of  all  Art  yields,  and  Nature1  can  decree  , 
Even  in  thy  desert,  what  is  like  to  thee  ? 
Thy  very  weeds  are  beautiful,  thy  waste 
More  rich  than  other  climes'  fertility ; 
Thy  wreck  a  glory,  and  thy  ruin  graced 
With  an  immaculate  charm  which  cannot  be  defaced. 

1  [The  whole  of  this  canto  is  rich  in  description  of  nature. 
The  love  of  nature  now  appears  as  a  distinct  passion  in  Lord 

16* 


186  C  H I  L  I)  E    H  A  HOLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

XXVII. 

The  moon  is  up,  and  yet  it  is  not  night — 
Sunset  divides  the  sky  with  her — a  sea 
Of.glory  streams  along  the  Alpine  height 
Of  blue  Friuli's  mountains;  heaven  is  free 
From  clouds,  but  of  all  colours  seems  to  be 
Melted  to  one  vast  iris  of  the  west, 
Where  the  day  joins  the  past  eternity ; 
While,  on  the  other  hand,  meek  Dian's  crest 
Floats  through  the  azure  air — an  island  of  the  blest  \yy 

XXVIII. 

A  single  star  is  at  her  side,  and  reigns 
With  her  o'er  half  the  lovely  heaven  ;  but  still 
Yon  sunny  sea  heaves  brightly,  and  remains 
Roll'd  o'er  the  peak  of  the  far  Rhaetian  hill, 
As  day  and  night  contending  were,  until 
Nature  reclaim'd  her  order  : — gently  flows 
The  deep-dyed  Brenta,  where  their  hues  instil 
The  odorous  purple  of  a  new-born  rose, 
Which  streams  upon  her  stream,  and  glass'd  within 
it  glows. 

Byron's  mind.  It  is  a  love  that  does  not  rest  in  beholding,  nor  is 
satisfied  with  describing,  what  is  before  him.  It  has  a  power  and 
being,  blending  itself  with  the  poet's  very  life.  Though  Lord 
Byron  had,  with  his  real  eyes,  perhaps  seen  more  of  nature  than 
ever  was  before  permitted  to  any  great  poet,  yet  he  never  before 
seemed  to  open  his  whole  heart  to  her  genial  impulses.  But 
in  this  he  is  changed;  and  in  this  Canto  of  Childe  Harold,  he 
will  stand  a  comparison  with  the  best  descriptive  poets,  in  this 
age  of  descriptive  poetry. — WILSON.] 

1  The  above  description  may  seem  fantastical  or  exaggerated 
to  those  who  have  never  seen  an  oriental  or  an  Italian  sky,  yet 
it  is  but  a  literal  and  hardly  sufficient  delineation  of  an  August 
f-voning,  (the  eighteenth,)  as  contemplated  in  one  of  many  rides 
along  the  oanks  of  the  Brenta,  near  La  Mini, 


CANTO  IV.  P  I  L  G  R  I  M  A  G  K.  187 

XXIX. 

Fill'd  with  the  face  of  heaven,  which,  from  afar, 
Comes  down  upon  the  waters  ;  all  its  hues, 
From  the  rich  sunset  to  the  rising  star,          W-- 
Tlieir  magical  variety  diffuse  : 
And  now  they  change;  a  paler  shadow  strews 
Its  mantle  o'er  the  mountains  ;  parting  day 
Dies  like  the  dolphin,  whom  each  pang  imbues 
With  a  new  colour  as  it  gasps  away, 
The   last  still  loveliest,  till — 'tis  gone — and   all  is 
gray. 

XXX. 

There  is  a  tomb  in  Arqua ; — rear'd  in  air, 
Pillar'd  in  their  sarcophagus,  repose 
The  bones  of  Laura's  lover  :  here  repair 
Many  familiar  with  his  well-sung  woes, 
The  pilgrims  of  his  genius.     He  arose 
To  raise  a  language,  and  his  land  reclaim 
From  the  dull  yoke  of  her  barbaric  foes  : 
Watering  the  tree  which  bears  his  lady's  name1 
With  his  melodious  tears,  he  gave  himself  to  fame. 

XXXI. 

They  keep  his  dust  in  Arqua,  where  he  died  ;2 
The  mountain-village  where  his  latter  days 
Went  down   the   vale   of  years;  and   'tis    their 

pride — 

An  honest  pride — and  let  it  be  their  praise, 
To  offer  to  the  passing  stranger's  gaze 
His  mansion  and  his  sepulchre  ;  both  plain 
And  venerably  simple,  such  as  raise 
A  feeling  more  accordant  with  his  strain 
Than  if  a  pyramid  form'd  his  monumental  fane. 

*,  a  See  Appendix,  "Historical  Notes,"  Nos.  VIII. and  IX. 


188  CH1LDE  HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV 

XXXII. 

And  the  soft  quiet  hamlet  where  he  dwelt1 
Is  one  of  that  complexion  which  seems  made 
For  those  who  their  mortality  have  felt, 
And  sought  a  refuge  from  their  hopes  decay'd 
In  the  deep  umbrage  of  a  green  hill's  shade, 
Which  shows  a  distant  prospect  far  away 
Of  busy  cities,  now  in  vain  display'd, 
For  they  can  lure  no  further  ;  and  the  ray 
Of  a  bright  sun  can  make  sufficient  holiday, 

XXXIII. 

Developing  the  mountains,  leaves,  and  flowers, 
And  shining  in  the  brawling  brook,  where-by, 
Clear  as  its  current,  glide  the  sauntering  hours 
With  a  calm  languor,  which,  though  to  the  eye 
Idlesse  it  seem,  hath  its  morality. 
If  from  society  we  learn  to  live, 
'Tis  solitude  should  teach  us  how  to  die  : 
It  hath  no  flatterers ;  vanity  can  give 
No  hollow  aid;  alone — man  with  his  God  must  strive: 

XXXIV. 

Or,  it  may  be,  with  demons,  who  impair2 

The  strength  of  better  thoughts,  and  seek  their  prey 

In  melancholy  bosoms,  such  as  were 

Of  moody  texture  from  their  earliest  day, 

And  loved  to  dwell  in  darkness  and  dismay, 

1  ["Halfway  up 

He  built  his  house,  whence  as  by  stealth  he  caught 
Among  the  hills  a  glimpse  of  busy  life 
That  soothed,  not  stirr'd." — ROGERS.] 

a  The  struggle  is  to  the  full  as  likely  to  be  with  demons  as  with 
our  better  thoughts.  Satan  chose  the  wilderness  for  the  tempta- 
tion of  our  Saviour.  And  our  unsullied  John  Locke  preferred  the 
presence  of  a  child  to  complete  solitude. 


CAN-TO  IV.  PILGRIM  A  G  E.  189 

Deeming  themselves  predestined  lo  a  doom 
Which  is  not  of  the  pangs  that  pass  away; 
Making  the  sun  like  blood,  the  earth  a  tomb, 
The  tomb  a  hell,  and  hell  itself  a  murkier  gloom. 

XXXV. 

Ferrara!1  in  thy  wide  and  grass-grown  streets, 
Whose  symmetry  was  not  for  solitude, 
There  seems  as  'twere  a  curse  upon  the  seats 
Of  former  sovereigns,  and  the  antique  brood 
Of  Este,  which  for  many  an  age  made  good 
Its  strength  within  thy  walls,  and  was  of  yore 
Patron  or  tyrant,  as  the  changing  mood 
Of  petty  power  impell'd,  of  those  who  wore 

The  wreath  which  Dante's bro  walonehad  worn  before. 

^ 
t 

XXXVI. 

And  Tasso  is  their  glory  and  their  shame. 
Hark  to  the  strain  !  and  then  survey  his  cell ! 
And  see  how  dearly  earn'd  Torquato's  fame, 
And  where  Alfonso  bade  his  poet  dwell : 
The  miserable  despot  could  not  quell 

1  [In  April,  1817,  Lord  Byron  visited  Ferrara,  went  over  the 
castle,  cell,  &c.,  and  wrote,  a  few  days  after,  the  Lament  of  Tasso. 
— "  One  of  the  Ferrarese  asked  me,"  he  says,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend, 
"  if  I  knew  *  Lord  Byron,'  an  acquaintance  of  his,  now  at  Naples. 
I  told  him  '  No !'  which  was  true  both  ways,  for  I  knew  not  the 
impostor :  and,  in  the  other,  no  one  knows  himself.  He  stared 
when  told  that  I  was  the  real  Simon  Pure.  Another  asked  me,  it 
I  had  not  translated  Tasso.  You  see  what  Fame  is ;  how  ac 
curate !  how  boundless !  I  don't  know  how  others  feel,  but  I  an 
always  the  lighter  and  the  better  looked  on  when  I  have  got  rid  ol 
mine.  It  sits  on  me  like  armour  on  the  Lord  Mayor's  champion 
and  I  got  rid  of  all  the  husk  of  literature,  and  the  attendant  babble 
by  answering  that  I  had  not  translated  Tasso,  but  a  namesake 
had ;  and,  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  I  looked  so  little  like  a  poci 
tii.it  everybody  believed  me."] 


190  CHILDE    HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV 

The  insulted  mind  h§  sought  to  quench,  and  blend 
With  the  surrounding  maniacs,  in  the  hell 
Where  he  had  plunged  it.     Glory  without  end 
Scatter'd  the  clouds  away — and  on  that  name  attend 

XXXVII. 

The  tears  and  praises  of  all  time  ;  while  thine 
Would  rot  in  its  oblivion — in  the  sink 
Of  worthless  dust,  which  from  thy  boasted  line 
Is  shaken  into  nothing;  but  the  link 
Thou  formest  in  his  fortunes  bids  us  think 
Of  thy  poor  malice,  naming  thee  with  scorn — • 
Alfonso  !  how  thy  ducal  pageants  shrink 
From  thee  !  if  in  another  station  born, 
Scarce  fit  to  be  the  slave  of  him  thou  madest  to 
mourn : 

XXXVIII. 

77/0?^  /  form'd  to  eat,  and  be  despised,  and  die, 
Even  as  the  beasts  that  perish,  save  that  thou 
Hadst  a  more  splendid  trough  and  wider  sty  : 
He  !  with  a  glory  round  his  furrow 'd  brow, 
Which  emanated  then,  and  dazzles  now, 
In  face  of  all  his  foes,  the  Cruscan  quire, 
And  Boileau,  whose  rash  envy  could  allow1 
No  strain  which  shamed  his  country's  creaking 

lyre, 
That  whetstone  of  the  teeth — monotony  in  wire  ! 

XXXIX. 

Peace  to  Tprquato's  injured  shade  !  'twas  his 
In  life  and  death  to  be  the  mark  where  Wrong 
Aim'd  with  her  poison'd  arrows  ;  but  to  miss. 
Oh,  victor  unsurpass'd  in  modern  song  ! 
Each  year  brings  forth  its  millions  ;  but  how  long 

1  See  Appendix,  "  Historical  Notes,"  No.  X. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  1U1 

The  tide  of  generations  shall  roll  on, 
And  not  the  whole  combined  and  countless  throng 
Compose  a  mind  like  thine  ?  though  all  in  one 
'  Condensed  their  scatter'd  rays,  they  would  not  form 
a  sun. 

XL.     *P 

Great  as  thou  art,  yet  parallel'd  by  those, 
Thy  countrymen,  before  thee  born  to  shine, 
The  Bards  of  Hell  and  Chivalry  :  first  rose 
The  Tuscan  father's  comedy  divine  ; 
Then,  not  unequal  to  the  Florentine, 
The  southern  Scott,1  the  minstrel  who  call'd  forth 
A  new  creation  with  his  magic  line, 
And,  like  the  Ariosto  of  the  North,2 
Sang  ladye-love  and  war,  romance  and  knightly  worth. 

1  [" Scott," says  Lord  Byron,  in  his  MS.  Diary, for  1821, "is 
certainly  the  most  wonderful  writer  of  the  day.  His  novels  are  a 
new  literature  in  themselves,  and  his  poetry  as  good  as  any — if 
not  better  (only  on  an  erroneous  system,) — and  only  ceased  to  be 
so  popular,  because  the  vulgar  were  tired  of  hearing  '  Aristides 
called  the  Just,'  and  Scott  the  Best,  and  ostracised  him.  I  know 
no  reading  to  which  I  fall  with  such  alacrity  as  a  work  of  his.  I 
love  him,  too,  for  his  manliness  of  character,  for  the  extreme 
pleasantness  of  his  conversation,  and  his  good-nature  towards  my- 
self personally.  May  he  prosper !  for  he  deserves  it.  In  a  letter, 
written  to  Sir  Walter,  from  Pisa,  in  1822,  he  says — "  I  owe  to  you 
far  more  than  the  usual  obligation  for  the  courtesies  of  literature 
and  common  friendship ;  for  you  went  out  of  your  way,  in  1817,  to 
do  me  a  service,  when  it  required  not  merely  kindness,  but  courage, 
to  do  so ;  to  have  been  recorded  by  you  in  such  a  manner,  would 
have  been  a  proud  memorial  at  any  time ;  but  at  such  a  time,  when 
'  All  the  world  and  his  wife,'  as  the  proverb  goes,  were  trying  to 
trample  upon  me,  was  something  still  higher  to  my  self-esteem. 
Had  it  been  a  common  criticism,  how  ever  eloquent  or  panegyrical, 
I  should  have  felt  pleased  and  grateful,  but  not  to  the  extent  which 
the  extraordinary  good -hearted  ness  of  the  whole  proceeding  must 
induce  in  any  mind  capable  of  such  sensations."] 

•  ["  I  do  not  know  whether  Scott  will  like  it,  but  I  have  called 
him  the  '  Ariosto  of  the  North,'  in  my  text.  If  he  should  not,  say 
so  in  time  " — Lord  B.  to  Mr.  Murray.  August,  1617.] 


192  CHILDEHAROLD'S          CANTO  IV 

XLI. 

The  lightning  rent  from  Ariosto's  bust1 
The  iron  crown  of  laurel's  mimick'd  leaves  ; 
Nor  was  the  ominous  element  unjust, 
For  the  true  laurel-wreath  which  Glory  weaves 
Is  of  the  tree  no  bolt  of  thunder  cleaves,2 
And  the  false  semblance  but  disgraced  his  brow ; 
Yet  still,  if  fondly  Superstition  grieves, 
Know,  that  the  lightning  sanctifies  below3 
Whate'er  it  strikes; — yon  head  is  doubly  sacred  now. 

XLII. 

Italia  !  oh  Italia  !  thou  who  hast 
The  fatal  gift  of  beauty,  which  became 
A  funeral  dower  of  present  woes  and  past, 
On  thy  sweet  brow  is  sorrow  plough'd  by  shame, 
And  annals  graved  in  characters  of  flame, 
Oh,  God  !  that  thou  wert  in  thy  nakedness 
Less  lovely  or  more  powerful,  and  couldst  claim 
Thy  right,  and  awe  the  robbers  back,  who  press 
To  shed  thy  blood,  and  drink  the  tears  of  thy  distress; 

XLIII. 

Then  mightst  thou  more  appal ;  or,  less  desired, 
Be  homely  and  be  peaceful,  undeplored 
For  thy  destructive  charms  ;  then,  still  untired, 
Would  not  be  seen  the  armed  torrents  pour'd 
Down  the  deep  Alps  ;  nor  would  the  hostile  horda 
Of  many-nation'd  spoilers  from  the  Po 
Quaff  blood  and  water  ;  nor  the  stranger's  sword 
Be  thy  sad  weapon  of  defence,  and  so, 
Victor  or  vanquished,  thou  the  slave  of  friend  or  foe.4 

*,  *,  8  See  Appendix,  «  Historical  Notes,"  Nos.  XL  XII.  XIII 
4  The  two  stanzas  xlii.  and  xliii.  are,  with  the  exception  of  a 

line  or  two,  a  translation  of  the  famous  sonnet  of  Filicaja:-- 

"  Italia.  Italia,  O  tu  cui  feo  la  snrte  !" 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  193 

XLIV. 

Wandering  in  youth,  I  traced  the  path  of  him,1 
The  Roman  friend  of  Rome's  least -mortal  mind, 
The  friend  of  Tully :  as  my  bark  did  skim 
The  bright  blue  waters  with  a  fanning  wind, 
Came  Megara  before  me,  and  behind 
JEginaTay,  Piraeus  on  the  right, 
And  Corinth  on  the  left:  I  lay  reclined 
Along  the  prow,  and  saw  all  these  unite 
In  ruin,  even  as  he  had  seen  the  desolate  sight ; 

XLV. 

For  Time  hath  not  rebuilt  them,  but  uprear'd 
Barbaric  dwellings  on  their  shatter'd  site, 
Which  only  make  more  mourn'd  and  more  endear  "d 
The  few  last  rays  of  their  far-scatter'd  light, 
And  the  crush'd  relics  of  their  vanish'd  might. 
The  Roman  saw  these  tombs  in  his  own  age, 
These  sepulchres  of  cities,  which  excite 
Sad  wonder,  and  his  yet  surviving  page 
The  moral  lesson  bears,  drawn  from  such  pilgrim- 
age. 


1  The  celebrated  letter  of  SerVius  Sulpicius  to  Cicero,  on  the 
death  of  his  daughter,  describes  as  it  then  was,  and  now  is,  a 
path  which  I  often  traced  in  Greece,  both  by  sea  and  land,  in 
different  journeys  and  voyages.  "  On  my  return  from  Asia,  as  I 
was  sailing  from  jEgina  towards  Megara,  I  began  to  contemplate 
the  prospect  of  the  countries  around  me :  .<Egina  was  behind, 
Megara  before  me ;  Piraeus  on  the  right.  Corinth  on  the  left:  all 
which  towns,  once  famous  and  flourishing,  now  lie  overturned 
and  buried  in  their  ruins.  Upon  this  sight,  I  could  not  but  think 
presently  within  myself,  Alas !  how  we  poor  mortals  fret  and  vex 
ourselves  if  any  of  our  friends  happen  to  die  or  be  killed,  whose 
life  is  yet  so  short,  when  the  carcasses  of  so  many  noble  cities  lie 
here  exposed  before  me  in  one  view." — See  MIDDLETON'S  Ciccr», 
vol.  ii.  D.  371. 

17 


194  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV. 

XLVI. 

That  page  is  now  before  me,  and  on  mine 
His  country's  ruin  added  to  the  mass 
Of  perish'd  states  he  mourn'd  in  their  decline, 
And  I  in  desolation  :  all  that  was 
Of  then  destruction  is  ;  and  now,  alas  ! 
Rome — Rome  imperial,  bows  her  to  the  storm, 
In  the  same  dust  and  blackness,  and  we  pass 
The  skeleton  of  her  Titanic  form,1 
Wrecks  of  another  world,  whose  ashes  still  are  warm. 

XLVII. 

Yet,  Italy  !  through  every  other  land 
Thy  wrongs  should  ring,  and  shall,  from  side  to 

side; 

Mother  of  Arts  !  as  once  of  arms ;  thy  hand 
Was  then  our  guardian,  and  is  still  our  guide; 
Parent  of  our  Religion  !  whom  the  wide 
Nations  have  knelt  to  for  the  keys  of  heaven  ! 
Europe,  repentant  of  her  parricide, 
Shall  yet  redeem  thee,  and,  all  backward  driven, 
Roll  the  barbarian  tide,  and  sue  to  be  forgiven. 

XLVIII. 

But  Arno  wins  us  to  the  fair  white  walls, 
Where  the  Etrurian  Athens  claims  and  keeps 
A  softer  feeling  for  her  fairy  halls. 
Girt  by  her  theatre  of  hills,  she  reaps 
Her  corn,  and  wine,  and  oil,  and  Plenty  leaps 
To  laughing  life,  with  her  redundant  horn. 
Along  the  banks  where  smiling  Arno  sweeps 
Was  modern  Luxury  of  Commerce  born, 
And  buried  Learning  rose,  redeem'd  to  a  new  morn. 

1  It  is  Poggio,  who,  looking  from  the  Capitoline  hill  upon 
ruined  Rome,  breaks  forth  into  the  exclamation,  "  Ut  nunc  omni 
decore  nudata,  prostrata  jacet,  instar  gigantei  caclaveris  corrupt! 
a!que  undique  exesi." 


CANTO  TV.  PILGRIMAGE. 


195 


A  < 

XLIX. 

There,  too,  the  goddess  loves  in  stone,  and  fills* 
The  air  around  with  beauty  ;  we  inhale 
The  ambrosial  aspect,  which,  beheld,  instils 
Part  of  its  immortality  ;  the  veil 
Of  heaven  is  half  undrawn;  within  the  pale 
We  stand,  and  in  that  form  and  face  behold 
What  Mind  can  make,  when  Nature's  self  would  fail  ; 
And  to  the  fond  idolaters  of  old 
Envy  the  innate  flash  which  such  a  soul  could  mould  : 

L. 

We  gaze  and  turn  away,  and  know  not  where, 
Dazzled  and  drunk  with  beauty,  till  the  heart2 
Reels  with  its  fulness  ;  there  —  forever  there  — 
Chain'd  to  the  chariot  of  triumphal  Art, 
We  stand  as  captives,  and  would  not  depart. 
Away  !  —  there  need  no  words,  nor  terms  precise, 
The  paltry  jargon  of  the  marble  mart, 
Where  Pedantry  gulls  Folly  —  we  have  eyes 
Blood  —  pulse  —  and    breast,    confirm    the    Dardan 
shepherd's  prize. 

1  See  Appendix,  "  Historical  Notes,"  No.  XIV. 

'  [In  1817,  Lord  Byron  visited  Florence,  on  his  way  to  Rome. 
"  I  remained,"  he  says,  "  but  a  day  .-  however,  I  went  to  the  two 
galleries,  from  which  one  returns  drunk  with  beauty.  The  Venus 
is  more  for  admiration  than  love;  but  there  are  sculpture  and 
painting,  which,  for  the  first  time,  at  all  gave  me  an  idea  of  what 
people  mean  by  their  cant  about  those  two  most  artificial  of  the 
arts.  What  struck  me  most  were,  the  mistress  of  Raphael,  a  por- 
trait; the  mistress  of  Titian,  a  portrait  ;  a  Venus  of  Titian  in  the 
Medici  Gallery;  the  Venus;  Canova's  Venus,  also,  in  the  other 
gallery  :  Titian's  mistress  is  also  in  the  other  gallery,  (that  is,  in  the 
Pitti  Palace  gallery  ;)  the  Parcae  of  Michael  Angelo,  a  picture  ; 
and  the  Antinous,  the  Alexander,  and  one  or  two  not  very  decent 
groups  in  marble  ;  the  Genius  of  Death,  a  sleeping  figure,  &c.  &c. 
I  also  went  to  the  Medici  chapel.  Fine  frippery  in  great  slabs  of 
various  expensive  stones,  to  commemorate  fifty  rotten  and  for- 
gotten carea&ses.  It  is  unfinished,  and  will  remain  so."  We  find 


196  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

Li. 

Appear'dst  thon  not  to  Paris  in  this  guise? 
Or  to  more  deeply  blest  Anchises  ?  or, 
In  all  thy  perfect  goddess-ship,  when  lies 
Before  thee  thy  own  vanquished  Lord  of  War  ? 
And  gazing  in  thy  face  as  toward  a  star, 
Laid  on  thy  lap,  his  eyes  to  thee  upturn, 
Feeding  on  thy  sweet  cheek  I1  while  thy  lips  are 
With  lava  kisses  melting  while  they  burn,     [urn  !2 
Shower'd  on  his  eyelids,  brow,  and  mouth,  as  from  an 

the  following  note  of  a  second  visit  to  the  galleries  in  1821,  accom- 
panied by  the  author  of"  The  Pleasures  of  Memory :"-  -"  My  for- 
mer impressions  were  confirmed ;  but  there  were  too  many  visiters 
to  allow  me  to  feel  any  thing  properly.  When  we  were  (about 
thirty  or  forty)  all  stuffed  into  the  cabinet  of  gems  and  knick- 
knackeries,  in  a  corner  of  one  of  the  galleries,  I  told  Rogers  that  'it 
feltlikebeing  in  the  watch-house.'  I  heard  one  bold  Briton  declare 
to  the  woman  on  his  arm,  looking  at  the  Venus  of  Titian,  '  Well, 
now,  that  is  really  very  fine  indeed !' — an  observation  which,  like 
that  of  the  landlord  in  Joseph  Andrews,  on  '  the  certainty  of 
death,'  was  (as  the  landlord's  wife  observed)  « extremely  true.' 
In  the  Pitti  Palace,  I  did  not  omit  Goldsmith's  prescription  fora 
connoisseur,  viz.  « that  the  pictures  would  have  been  better  if  the 
painter  had  taken  more  pains,  and  to  praise  the  works  of  Peter 
Perugino.' "] 

'Oi{iOa\^oi>s  fOTiav. 

-  _"  Atque  oculos  pascat  uterque  suos." — OVID.  Amor.  lib.  ii. 
V.  "  rjThe  dekght  with  which  the  pilgrim  contemplates  the  ancient 
Greek  statues  at  Florence,  and  afterwards  at  Rome,  is  such  as 
might  have  been  expected  from  any  great  poet,  whose  youthful 
mind  had,  like  his,  been  imbued  with  those  classical  ideas  and 
associations  which  afford  so  many  sources  of  pleasure,  through 
every  period  of  life.  He  has  gazed  upon  these  masterpieces  of 
art  with  a  more  susceptible,  and,  in  spite  of  his  disavowal,  with  a 
more  learned  eye,  than  can  be  traced  in  the  effusions  of  any  poet 
who  had  previously  expressed,  in  any  formal  manner,  his  admira- 
tion of  their  beauty.  It  may  appear  fanciful  to  say  so  ; — but  we 
think  the  genius  of  Byron  is,  more  than  that  of  any  other  modern 
poet,  akin  to  that  peculiar  genius  which  seems  to  have  been  dif- 
fused among  all  the  poets  and  artists  of  ancient  Greece;  and  in 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  197 

LIT. 

Glowing,  and  circumfused  in  speechless  love, 
Their  full  divinity  inadequate 
That  feeling  to  express,  or  to  improve, 
The  gods  became  as  mortals,  and  man's  fate 
Has  moments  like  their  brightest ;  but  the  weight 
Of  earth  recoils  upon  us  ; — let  it  go! 
We  can  recall  such  visions,  and  create, 
From  what  has  been,  or  might  be, things  which  grow 
Into  thy  statue's  form,  and  look  like  gods  below. 

LIII. 

I  leave  to  learned  fingers,  and  wise  hands, 
The  artist  and  his  ape,1  to  teach  and  tell 
How  well  his  connoisseurship  understands 
The  graceful  bend,  and  the  voluptuous  swell : 
Let  these  describe  the  undescribable: 
I  would  not  their  vile  breath  should  crisp  the  stream 
Wherein  that  image  shall  forever  dwell ; 
The  unruffled  mirror  of  the  loveliest  dream 
That  ever  left  the  sky  on  the  deep  soul  to  beam. 

whose  spirit,  above  all  its  other  wonders,  the  great  specimens  of 
sculpture  seem  to  have  been  conceived  and  executed.  His  creations, 
whether  of  beauty  or  of  strength,  are  all  single  creations.  He  re- 
quires no  grouping  to  give  effect  to  his  favourites,  or  to  tell  his 
story.  His  heroines  are  solitary  symbols  of  loveliness,  which 
require  no  foil;  his  heroes  stand  alone  as  upon  marble  pedestals, 
displaying  the  naked  power  of  passion,  or  the  wrapped  up  and 
reposing  energy  of  grief.  The  artist  who  would  illustrate,  as  it  is 
called,  the  works  of  any  of  our  other  poets,  must  borrow  the  mimic 
splendours  of  the  pencil.  He  who  would  transfer  into  another 
vehicle  the  spirit  of  Byron,  must  pour  the  liquid  metal,  or  hew 
the  stubborn  rock.  What  he  loses  in  ease,  he  will  gain  in  power. 
He  might  draw  from  Medora,  Gulnare,  Lara,  or  Manfred,  subjects 
for  relievos,  worthy  of  enthusiasm  almost  as  great  as  Harold  has 
himself  displayed  on  the  contemplation  of  the  loveliest  and  the 
sternest  relics  of  the  inimitable  genius  of  the  Greeks. — WILSON.] 
1  [Only  a  week  before  the  poet  visited  the  Florence  gallery,  he 


.98  C  HI  LDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

Liv. 

In  Santa  Croce's  holy  precincts  lie1 
Ashes  which  make  it  holier,  dust  which  is 
Even  in  itself  an  immortality, 
Though  there  were  nothing  save  the  past,  and  this, 
The  particle  of  those  sublimities 
Which  have  relapsed  to  chaos : — here  repose 
Angelo's,  Alfieri's  bones,  and  his,2 
The  starry  Galileo,  with  his  woes ; 
Here  Machiavelli's  earth  return'd  to  whence  it  rose.3 

LV. 

These  are  four  minds,  which,  like  the  elements, 
Might  furnish  forth  creation: — Italy !  [rents 

Time,  which  hath  wrong'd  thee  with  ten  thousand 
Of  thine  imperial  garment,  shall  deny, 
And  hath  denied,  to  every  other  sky, 
Spirits  which  soar  from  ruin  : — thy  decay 
Is  still  impregnate  with  divinity, 
Which  gilds  it  with  revivifying  ray ; 
Such  as  the  great  of  yore,  Canova  is  to-day. 

wrote  thus  to  a  friend : — "  I  know  nothing  of  painting.  Depend 
upon  it,  of  all  the  arts,  it  is  the  most  artificial  and  unnatural,  and 
that  by  which  the  nonsense  of  mankind  is  most  imposed  upon.  I 
never  yet  saw  the  picture  or  the  statue  which  came  a  league  within 
my  conception  or  expectation ;  but  I  have  seen  many  mountains, 
and  seas,  and  rivers,  and  views,  and  two  or  three  women,  who 
went  as  far  beyond  it." — Byron  Letters.] 

*,  *,  *  See  Appendix,  "  Historical  Notes,"  Nos.  XV.  XVI. 
XVII. — ["The  church  of  Santa  Croce  contains  much  illustrious 
nothing.  The  tombs  of  Machiavelli,  Michael  Angelo,  Galileo,  and 
Alfieri,  make  it  the  Westminster  Abbey  of  Italy.  I  did  not  ad- 
mire any  of  these  tombs — beyond  their  contents.  That  of  Alfieri  is 
heavy ;  and  all  of  them  seem  to  me  overloaded.  What  is  neces- 
sary but  a  bust  and  name  ?  and  perhaps  a  date  ?  the  last  for  the 
unchronological,  of  whom  I  am  one.  But  all  your  allegory  and 
eulogy  is  infernal,  and  worse  than  the  long  wigs  of  English  num- 
skulls upon  Roman  bodies,  in  the  statuary  of  the  reigns  of  Charles 
the  Second,  William,  and  Anne." — Byron  Letters,  1817.] 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  199 

LVI. 

But  where  repose  the  all  Etruscan  three — 
Dante,  and  Petrarch,  and  scarce  less  than  they, 
The  Bard  of  Prose,  creative  spirit !  he 
Of  the  Hundred  Tales  of  love — where  did  they  lay 
Their  bones,  distinguish'd  from  our  common  clay 
In  death  as  life  ?     Are  they  resolved  to  dust, 
And  have  their  country's  marbles  naught  to  say. 
Could  not  her  quarries  furnish  forth  one  bust  ? 
Did  they  not  to  her  breast  their  filial  earth  intrust  ? 

. 

LVII. 

Ungrateful  Florence  !  Dante  sleeps  afar, 
Like  Scipio,  buried  by  the  upbraiding  shore  :8 
Thy  factions,  in  their  worse  than  civil  war, 
Proscribed  the  bard  whose  name  for  evermore 
Their  children's  children  would  in  vain  adore 
With  the  remorse  of  ages ;  and  the  crown3 
Which  Petrarch's  laureate  brow  supremely  wore, 
Upon  a  far  and  foreign  soil  had  grown, 
His  life,  his  fame,  his  grave,  though  rifled — not  thine 
own. 

LVIII. 

Boccaccio  to  his  parent  earth  bequeath'd4 
His  dust, — and  lies  it  not  her  great  among, 
With  many  a  sweet  and  solemn  requiem  breathed 
O'er  him  who  form'd  the  Tuscan's  siren  tongue  ? 
That  music  in  itself,  whose  sounds  are  song, 
The  poetry  of  speech  ?     No  ; — even  his  tomb 
Uptorn,  must  bear  the  hyaena  bigot's  wrong, 
No  more  amidst  the  meaner  dead  find  room, 
Nor  claim  a  passing  sigh,  because  it  told  for  whom  ! 

S  9,  8,  «  See  Appendix,   "Historical  Notes,"  Nos.   XVII I. 
XIX.  XX.  and  XXI. 


200  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

Lix. 

And  Santa  Croce  wants  their  mighty  dust; 
Yet  for  this  want  more  noted,  as  of  yore 
The  Caesar's  pageant,  shorn  of  Brutus'  bust, 
Did  but  of  Rome's  best  son  remind  her  more : 
Happier  Ravenna !  on  thy  hoary  shore, 
Fortress  of  falling  empire  !  horiour'd  sleeps 
The  immortal  exile  ; — Arqua,  too,  her  store 
Of  tuneful  relics  proudly  claims  and  keeps, 
While  Florence  vainly  begs  her  banish'd  dead,  and 
weeps. 

LX. 

What  is  her  pyramid  of  precious  stones?1 
Of  porphyry,  jasper,  agate,  and  all  hues 
Of  gem  and  marble,  to  encrust  the  bones 
Of  merchant-dukes  ?  the  momentary  dews 
Which,  sparkling  to  the  twilight  stars,  infuse 
Freshness  in  the  green  turf  that  wraps  the  dead, 
Whose  names  are  mausoleums  of  the  Muse, 
Are  gently  prest  with  far  more  reverent  tread 
Than  ever  paced  the  slab  which  paves  the  princely 
head. 

LXI. 

There  be  more  things  to  greet  the  heart  and  eyes 
In  Arno's  dome  of  Art's  most  princely  shrine, 
Where  Sculpture  with  her  rainbow  sister  vies ; 
There  be  more  marvels  yet — but  not  for  mine ; 
For  I  have  been  accustom'd  to  entwine 
My  thoughts  with  Nature  rather  in  the  fields, 
Than  Art  in  galleries:  though  a  work  divine 
Calls  for  my  spirit's  homage,  yet  it  yields 
Less  than  it  feels,  because  the  weapon  which  it  wields 

1  See  Appendix,  «  Historical  Notes,"  No,  XX11, 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  201 

LXII. 

Is  of  another  temper,  and  I  roam 
By  Thrasimene's  lake,  in  the  defiles 
Fatal  to  Roman  rashness,  more  at  home ; 
For  there  the  Carthaginian's  warlike  wiles 
Come  back  before  me,  as  his  skill  beguiles 
The  host  between  the  mountains  and  the  shore, 
Where  Courage  falls  in  her  despairing  files, 
And  torrents  swoln  to  rivers  with  their  gore, 
Reek  through  the  sultry  plain,  with  legions  scatter'd 
o'er. 

LXIII. 

Like  to  a  forest  fell'd  by  mountain  winds ; 
And  such  the  storm  of  battle  on  this  day, 
And  such  the  frenzy,  whose  convulsion  blinds 
To  all  save  carnage,  that,  beneath  the  fray, 
An  earthquake  reel'd  unheededly  away  !x 
None  felt  stern  Nature  rocking  at  his  feet, 
And  yawning  forth  a  grave  for  those  who  lay 
Upon  their  bucklers  for  a  winding  sheet ; 
Such   is  the  absorbing  hate  when  warring  nations 
meet! 

LXIV. 

The  earth  to  them  was  as  a  rolling  bark 
Which  bore  them  to  eternity ;  they  saw 
The  ocean  round,  but  had  no  time  to  mark 
The  motions  of  their  vessel ;  Nature's  law, 
In  them  suspended,  reck'd  not  of  the  awe 
Which  reigns  when  mountains  tremble,  and  the  birds 
Plunge  in  the  clouds  for  refuge,  and  withdraw 
From  their  down-toppling  nests;  and  bellowing  herds 
Stumble  o'er  heaving  plains,  and  man's  dread  hath 
no  words. 

1  See  Appendix, "Historical  Notes," No. XXIII.— [An  earth- 


302  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  IT. 

LXV. 

Far  other  scene  is  Thrasimene  now  ; 
Her  lake  a  sheet  of  silver,  and  her  plain 
Rent  by  no  ravage  save  the  gentle  plough ; 
Her  aged  trees  rise  thick  as  once  the  slain 
Lay  where  their  roots  are  ;  but  a  brook  hath  ta'en — 
A  little  rill  of  scanty  stream  and  bed — 
A  name  of  blood  from  that  day's  sanguine  rain ; 
And  Sariguinetto  tells  ye  where  the  dead 
Made  the  earth  wet,  and  turn'd  the  unwilling  waters 
red.1 

LXVI. 

But  thou,  Clitumnus  !  in  thy  sweetest  wave2 
Of  the  most  living  crystal  that  was  e'er 
The  haunt  of  river  nymph,  to  gaze  and  lave 
Her  limbs  where  nothing  hid  them,  thou  dost  rear 
Thy  grassy  banks  whereon  the  milk-white  steer 
Grazes ;  the  purest  god  of  gentle  waters  ! 
And  most  serene  of  aspect,  and  most  clear ; 
Surely  that  stream  was  unprofaned  by  slaughters — 
A  mirror  and  a  bath  for  Beauty's  youngest  daughters ! 

quake  which  shook  all  Italy  occurred  during  the  battle,  and  was 
unfelt  by  any  of  the  combatants.] 

1  ["The  lovely  peaceful  mirror  reflected  the  mountains  of 
Monte  Pulciana,  and  the  wild  fowl  skimming  its  ample  surface, 
touched  the  waters  with  their  rapid  wings,  leaving  circles  and 
trains  of  light  to  glitter  in  gray  repose.  As  we  moved  along,  one 
set  of  interesting  features  yielded  to  another,  and  every  change 
excited  new  delight.  Yet,  was  it  not  among  these  tranquil  scenes 
that  Hannibal  and  Flaminius  met  1  Was  not  the  blush  of  blood 
upon  the  silver  lake  of  Thrasimene  1" — H.  W.  WILLIAMS.] 

9  No  book  of  travels  has  omitted  to  expatiate  on  the  temple  of 
the  Clitumnus,  between  Foligno  and  Spoleto;  and  no  site,  or 
scenery,  even  in  Italy  is  more  worthy  a  description.  For  an 
account  of  the  dilapidation  of  this  temple,  the  reader  is  referred 
to  "  Historical  Illustrations  of  the  Fourth  Canto  of  Childe 
Harold,"  p.  35. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  20? 

LXVII. 

And  on  thy  happy  shore  a  temple1  still, 
Of  small  and  delicate  proportion,  keeps, 
Upon  a  mild  declivity  of  hill, 
Its  memory  of  thee  ;  beneath  it  sweeps 
Thy  current's  calmness ;  oft  from  out  it  leaps 
The  finny  darter  with  the  glittering  scales, 
Who  dwells  and  revels  in  thy  glassy  deeps; 
While,  chance,  some  scatter'd  water-lily  sails 
Down  where  the  shallower  wave  still  tells  its  bubbling 
tales. 

iLXVTII. 

Pass  not  unblest  the  Genius  of  the  place  ! 
If  through  the  air  a  zephyr  more  serene 
Win  to  the  brow,  'tis  his;  and  if  ye  trace 
Along  his  margin  a  more  eloquent  green, 
If  on  the  heart  the  freshness  of  the  scene 
Sprinkle  its  coolness,  and  from  the  dry  dust 
Of  weary  life  a  moment  lave  it  clean 
With  Nature's  baptism, — 'tis  to  him  ye  must 
Pay  orisons  for  this  suspension  of  disgust.2 

1  ["  This  pretty  little  gem  stands  on  the  acclivity  of  a  bank 
overlooking  its  crystal  waters,  which  have  their  source  at  the 
distance  of  some  hundred  yards  towards  Spoleto.  The  temple, 
fronting  the  river,  is  of  an  oblong  form,  in  the  Corinthian  order. 
Pour  columns  support  the  pediment,  the  shafts  of  which  are 
covered  in  spiral  lines,  and  in  forms  to  represent  the  scales  of 
fishes :  the  bases,  too,  are  richly  sculptured.  Within  the  building 
/3  a  chapel,  the  walls  of  which  are  covered  with  many  hundred 
names ;  but  we  saw  none  which  we  could  recognise  as  British. 
Can  it  be  that  this  classical  temple  is  seldom  visited  by  our  coun- 
trymen, though  celebrated  by  Dryden  and  Addison?  To  future 
travellers  from  Britain  it  will  surely  be  rendered  interesting  by 
the  beautiful  lines  of  Lord  Byron,  flowing  as  sweetly  as  tho 
lovely  stream  which  they  describe." — H.  W.  WILLIAMS.] 

8  [Perhaps  there  are  no  verses  in  our  language  of  hap; ier 
descriptive  power  than  the  two  stanzas  which  characterize  the 


204  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV 

LXIX. 

The  roar  of  waters  ! — from  the  headlong  height 
Velino  cleaves  the  wave-worn  precipice  ; 
The  fall  of  waters  !  rapid  as  the  light 
The  flashing  mass  foams  shaking  the  abyss; 
The  hell  of  waters  !  where  they  howl  and  hiss, 
And  boil  in  endless  torture  ;  while  the  sweat 
Of  their  great  agony,  wrung  out  from  this 
Their  Phlegethon,  curls  round  the  rocks  of  jet 
That  gird  the  gulf  around,  in  pitiless  horror  set, 

LXX. 

And  mounts  in  spray  the  skies,  and  thence  again 
Returns  in  an  unceasing  shower,  which  round, 
With  its  unemptied  cloud  of  gentle  rain, 
Is  an  eternal  April  to  the  ground, 
Making  it  all  one  emerald  : — how  profound 
The  gulf!  and  how  the  giant  element 
From  rock  to  rock  leaps  with  delirious  bound, 
Crushing  the  cliffs,  which,  downward  worn  and  rent 
With  his  fierce  footsteps,  yield  in  chasms  a  fearful  vent. 


Clitumnus.  In  general  poets  find  it  so  difficult  to  leave  an  inte- 
resting subject,  that  they  injure  the  distinctness  of  the  description 
by  loading  it  so  as  to  embarrass,  rather  than  excite,  the  fancy  of 
the  reader;  or  else,  to  avoid  that  fault,  they  confine  themselves 
to  cold  and  abstract  generalities.  Byron  has,  in  these  stanzas, 
admirably  steered  his  course  betwixt  these  extremes :  while 
they  present  the  outlines  of  a  picture  as  pure  and  as  brilliant  as 
those  of  Claude  Lorraine,  the  task  of  filling  up  the  more  minute 
particulars  is  judiciously  left  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader; 
and  it  must  be  dull  indeed  if  it  does  not  supply  what  the  poet  has 
left  unsaid,  or  but  generally  and  briefly  intimated.  While  the  eye 
glances  over  the  lines,  we  seem  to  feel  the  refreshing  coolness  of 
the  scene — we  hear  the  bubbling  tale  of  the  more  rapid  streams, 
and  see  the  slender  proportions  of  the  rural  temple  reflected  in  the 
crystal  depth  of  the  calm  pool. — Sin  WALTER  SCOTT.") 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  205 

LXXI. 

To  the  broad  column  which  rolls  on,  and  shows 
More  like  the  fountain  of  an  infant  sea 
Torn  from  the  womb  of  mountains  by  the  throes 
Of  a  new  world,  than  only  thus  to  be 
Parent  of  rivers,  which  flow  gushingly,        [back! 
With  many  windings,  through   the   vale: — Look 
Lo  !  where  it  comes  like  an  eternity, 
As  if  to  sweep  down  all  things  in  its  track, 
Charming  the  eye  with  dread, — a  matchless  cataract,^ 

LXXII. 

Horribly  beautiful !  but  on  the  verge, 
From  side  to  side,  beneath  the  glittering  morn, 
An  Iris  sits,  amidst  the  infernal  surge,2 
Like  Hope  upon  a  death-bed,  and,  unworn 
Its~sfeadydyes,  while  all  around  is  torn 
By  the  distracted  waters,  bears  serene 
Its  brilliant  hues  with  all  their  beams  unshorn : 
Resembling,  mid  the  torture  of  the  scene, 
Love  \vatching  Madness  with  unalterable  mien. 

1  I  saw  the  Cascata  del  Marmore  of  Terni  twice,  at  different 
periods ;  once  from  the  summit  of  the  precipice,  and  again  from 
the  valley  helow.  The  lower  view  is  far  to  be  preferred,  if  the 
traveller  has  time  for  one  only ;  but  in  any  point  of  view,  either 
from  above  or  below,  it  is  worth  all  the  cascades  and  torrents  of 
Switzerland  put  together:  the  Staubach,  Reichenbach,  Pisse 
Vache,  fall  of  Arpenaz,  &c.  are  rills  in  comparative  appearance. 
Of  the  fall  of  Schaffhausen  I  cannot  speak,  not  yet  having  seen  it. 
["  The  stunning  sound,  the  mist,  uncertainty,  and  tremendous 
depth,  bewildered  the  senses  for  a  time,  and  the  eye  had  little  rest 
from  the  impetuous  and  hurrying  waters,  to  search  into  the  mys- 
terious and  whitened  gulf,  which  presented,  through  a  cloud  of 
spray,  the  apparitions,  as  it  were,  of  rocks  and  overhanging  wood. 
The  wind,  however,  would  sometimes  remove  for  an  instant  this 
misty  veil,  and  display  such  a  scene  of  havoc  as  appalled  the  soul.'* 
— H.  W.  WILLIAMS.] 

8  Of  the  time,  place,  and  qualities  of  this  kind  of  iris,  the  reader 
will  see  a  short  account,  in  a  note  to  Manfred.  The  fall  looks  so 

13 


20G  CHILDE  HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV. 

LXXIII. 

Once  more  upon  the  woody  Apennine 
The  infant  Alps,  which — had  I  not  before 
Gazed  on  their  mightier  parents,  where  the  pine 
Sits  on  more  shaggy  summits,  and  where  roar1 
The  thundering  lauwine — might   be   worshipp'd 

more ; 

But  I  have  seen  the  soaring  Jungfrau  rear 
Her  never-trodden  snow,  and  seen  the  hoar 
Glaciers  of  bleak  Mont  Blanc  both  far  and  near, 
And  in  Chimari  heard  the  thunder-hills  of  fear, 

LXXIV. 

Th'  Acroceraunian  mountains  of  old  name; 
And  on  Parnassus  seen  the  eagles  fly 
Like  spirits  of  the  spot,  as  'twere  for  fame, 
For  still  they  soar'd  unutterably  high : 
I've  look'd  on  Ida  with  a  Trojan's  eye ; 
Athos,  Olympus,  ^Etna,  Atlas,  made 
These  hills  seem  things  of  lesser  dignity, 
All,  save  the  lone  Soracte's  height,  display'd 
Not  now  in  snow,  which  asks  the  lyric  Roman's  aid 


much  like  "  the  hell  of  waters,"  that  Addison  thought  the  descent 
alluded  to  by  the  gulf  in  which  Alecto  plunged  into  the  infernal 
regions.  It  is  singular  enough,  that  two  of  the  finest  cascades  in 
Europe  should  be  artificial — this  of  the  Velino,  and  the  one  at 
Tivoli.  The  traveller  is  strongly  recommended  to  trace  the  Velino, 
at  least  as  high  as  the  little  lake,  called  Pie1  di Lup,  The  Reatine 
territory  was  the  Italian  Tempe,  (Cicer.  Epist.  ad  Attic,  xv.  lib. 
iv.,)  and  the  ancient  naturalists,  (Plin.  Hist.  Nat.  lib.  ii.  cap.  Ixii.,) 
amongst  other  beautiful  varieties,  remarked  the  daily  rainbows 
of  the  lake  Velinus.  A  scholar  of  great  name  has  devoted  a 
treatise  to  this  district  alone.  See  Aid.  Manut.  de  Reatina  Urbe 
Agroque,  ap.  Sallengre,  Thesaur.  torn.  i.  p.  773. 

1  In  the  greater  part  of  Switzerland,  the  avalanches  are  known 
by  the  name  cf  lauwine. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  207 

LXXV. 

For  our  remembrance,  and  from  out  the  plain 
Heaves  like  a  long-swept  wave  about  to  break, 
And  on  the  curl  hangs  pausing :  not  in  vain 
May  he,  who  will,  his  recollections  rake, 
And  quote  in  classic  raptures,  and  awake 
The  hills  with  Latian  echoes ;  I  abhorr'd 
Too  much,  to  conquer  for  the  poet's  sake, 
The  drill'd  dull  lesson,  forced  down  word  by  word1 
In  my  repugnant  youth,  with  pleasure  to  record 

1  These  stanzas  may  probably  remind  the  reader  of  Ensign 
Northerton's  remarks,  "  D — n  Homo,"  &c. ;  but  the  reasons  for 
our  dislike  are  not  exactly  the  same.  I  wish  to  express,  that  we 
become  tired  of  the  task  before  we  can  comprehend  the  beauty ; 
that  we  learn  by  rote  before  we  can  get  by  heart ;  that  the  fresh- 
ness is  worn  away,  and  the  future  pleasure  and  advantage  deadened 
and  destroyed,  by  the  didactic  anticipation,  at  an  age  when  we  can 
neither  feel  nor  understand  the  power  of  compositions  which  it 
requires  an  acquaintance  with  life,  as  well  as  Latin  and  Greek,  to 
relish,  or  to  reason  upon.  For  the  same  reason,  we  never  can  be 
aware  of  the  fulness  of  some  of  the  finest  passages  of  Shakspeare 
("  To  be,  or  not  to  be,"  for  instance,)  from  the  habit  of  having 
them  hammered  into  us  at  eight  years  old,  as  an  exercise,  not  of 
mind,  but  of  memory ;  so  that  when  we  are  old  enough  to  enjoy 
them,  the  taste  is  gone,  and  the  appetite  palled.  In  some  parts 
of  the  continent  young  persons  are  taught  from  more  common 
authors,  and  do  not  read  the  best  classics  till  their  maturity.  I 
certainly  do  not  speak  on  this  point  from  any  pique  or  aversion 
towards  the  place  of  my  education.  I  was  not  a  slow,  though  an 
idle  boy ;  and  I  believe  no  one  could,  or  can  be,  more  attached  to 
Harrow  than  I  have  always  been,  and  with  reason  ; — a  part  of 
the  time  passed  there  was  the  happiest  of  my  life ;  and  my  pre- 
ceptor, the  Rev.  Dr.  Joseph  Drury,  was  the  best  and  worthiest 
friend  I  ever  possessed,  whose  warnings  I  have  remembered  but 
too  well,  though  too  late  when  I  have  erred, — and  whose  coun- 
sels I  have  but  followed  when  I  have  done  well  or  wisely.  If  ever 
this  imperfect  record  of  my  feelings  towards  him  should  reach  his 
eyes,  let  it  remind  him  of  one  who  never  thinks  of  him  but  with 
gratitude  and  veneration — of  one  who  would  more  gladly  boas* 
of  having  been  his  pupil,  if,  by  more  closely  following  his  injunc- 
tions, he  could  reflect  any  honour  upon  his  instructor. 


208  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

/ 

LXXVI. 

Aught  that  recalls  the  daily  drug  which  turn'd 
My  sickening  memory;  and,  though  time  hath  taught 
My  mind  to  meditate  what  then  it  learn'd, 
Yet  such  the  fix'd  inveteracy  wrought 
By  the  impatience  of  my  early  thought, 
That,  with  the  freshness  wearing  out  before 
My  mind  could  relish  what  it  might  have  sought, 
If  free  to  choose,  I  cannot  now  restore 
Its  health ;  but  what  it  then  detested,  still  abhor. 

LXXVII. 

Then  farewell,  Horace;  whom  I  hated  so,1 
Not  for  thy  faults,  but  minej  it  is  a  curse 
To  understand,  not  feel  thy  lyric  flow, 
To  comprehend,  but  never  love  thy  verse, 
Although  no  deeper  moralist  rehearse 
Our  little  life,  nor  bard  prescribe  his  art, 
Nor  livelier  satirist  the  conscience  pierce, 
Awakening  without  wounding  the  touch'd  heart, 
Yet  fare  thee  well — upon  Soracte's  ridge  we  part. 

LXXVIII. 

Oh  Rome  !  my  country !  city  of  the  soul ! 
The  orphans  of  the  heart  must  turn  to  thee, 
Lone  mother  of  dead  empires  !  and  control 
In  their  shut  breasts  their  petty  misery. 
What  are  our  woes  and  sufferance  ?  Come  and  see 
The  cypress,  hear  the  owl,  and  plod  your  way 
O'er  steps  of  broken  thrones  and  temples,  Ye  ! 
Whose  agonies  are  evils  of  a  day — 
A  world  is  at  our  feet  as  fragile  as  our  clay. 

1  [Lord  Byron  s  prepossession  against  Horace  is  not  without 
a  parallel.  It  was  not  till  released  from  the  duty  of  readino- 
Virgil  as  a  task,  that  Gray  could  feel  himself  capable  of  enjoyino- 
the  beauties  of  that  poet. — MOORE.] 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  209 

LXXIX, 

The  Niobe  of  nations  !  there  she  stands,1 
Childless  and  crownless,  in  her  voiceless  woe  j 
An  empty  urn  within  her  wither'd  hands, 
Whose  holy  dust  was  scatter'd  long  ago ; 
The  Scipios'  tomb  contains  no  ashes  now  ;2 
The  very  sepulchres  lie  tenantless 
Of  their  heroic  dwellers  :  dost  thou  flow, 
Old  Tiber  !  through  a  marble  wilderness  ? 
Rise,  with  thy  yellow  waves,  and  mantle  her  distress. 

LXXX. 

The  Goth,  the  Christian,  Time,  War,  Flood,  and 

Fire 

Have  dealt  upon  the  seven-hill'd  city's  pride ; 
She  saw  her  glories  star  by  star  expire, 
And  up  the  steep  barbarian  monarchs  ride, 
Where  the  car  climb'd  the  capitol ;  far  and  wide 
Temple  and  tower  went  down,  nor  left  a  site : — 
Chaos  of  ruins  !  who  shall  trace  the  void, 
O'er  the  dim  fragments  cast  a  lunar  light, 
And  say,  "here  was  or  is,"  where  all  is  doubly 

night  ? 

1  ["  I  have  been  some  days  in  Rome  the  Wonderful.  I  am 
delighted  with  Rome.  As  a  whole, — ancient  and  modern, — it 
beats  Greece,  Constantinople,  every  thing — at  least  that  I  have 
ever  seen.  But  I  can't  describe,  because  my  first  impressions  are 
always  strong  and  confused,  and  my  memory  selects  and  reduces 
them  to  order,  like  distance  in  the  landscape,  and  blends  them 
better,  although  they  may  be  less  distinct.  I  have  been  on  horse- 
back most  of  the  day,  all  days  since  my  arrival.  I  have  been  to 
Albano,  its  lakes,  and  to  the  top  of  the  Alban  Mount,  and  to 
Frescati,  Aricia,  &c.  As  for  the  Coliseum,  Pantheon,  St.  Peter's, 
the  Vatican,  Palatine,  &c.  &c. — they  are  quite  inconceivable,  and 
must  be  *«en." — Byron  Letters,  May,  1817.] 

*  For  a  comment  on  this  and  the  two  following  stanzas,  the 
reader  may  consult  "  Historical  Illustrations,"  p.  40. 
lb* 


210  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 


LXXXI. 


'The  double  night  of  ages,  and  of  her, 
Night's  daughter,  Ignorance,  hath  wrapt  and  wrap 
All  round  us ;  we  but  feel  our  way  to  err  : 
The  ocean  hath  his  chart,  the  stars  their  map, 
And  Knowledge  spreads  them  on  her  ample  lap  ; 
But  Rome  is  as  the  desert,  where  we  steer 
Stumbling  o'er  recollections ;  now  we  clap 
Our  hands,  and  cry  "  Eureka  !"  it  is  clear — 
When  but  some  false  mirage  of  ruin  rises  near. 

LXXXII. 

Alas  !  the  lofty  city !  and  alas ! 
The  trebly  hundred  triumphs  !l  and  the  day 
When  Brutus  made  the  dagger's  edge  surpass 
The  conqueror's  sword  in  bearing  fame  away ! 
Alas,  for  Tully's  voice,  and  Virgil's  lay, 
And  Livy's  pictured  page  ! — but  these  shall  be 
Her  resurrection  !  all  beside — decay. 
Alas,  for  Earth,  for  never  shall  we  see 
That  brightness  in  her  eye  she  bore  when  Rome  was 
free  ! 

LXXXIII. 

Oh  thou,  whose  chariot  roll'd  on  Fortune's  wheel, 
Triumphant  Sylla  !  Thou,  who  didst  subdue 
Thy  country's  foes  ere  thou  wouldst  pause  to  feel 
The  wrath  of  thy  own  wrongs,  or  reap  the  due 
Of  hoarded  vengeance  till  thine  eagles  flew 
O'er  prostrate  Asia  ; — thou  who  with  thy  frown 
Annihilated  senates — Roman,  too, 
With  all  thy  vices,  for  thou  didst  lay  down 
With  an  atoning  smile  a  more  than  earthly  crown — 

1  Orosius  gives  320  for  the  number  of  triumphs.  He  is  fol- 
lowed by  Panvinius;  and  Panvinius  by  Mr.  Gibbon  ami  tha 
modern  writprs. 


ANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  211 

LXXXIV. 

The  dictatorial  wreath,1 — couldst  thou  divine 
To  what  would  one  day  dwindle  that  which  made 
Thee  more  than  mortal  ?  and  that  so  supine 
By  aught  than  Romans  Rome  should  thus  be  laid? 
She  who  was  named  Eternal,  and  array'd 
Her  warriors  but  to  conquer — she  who  veil'd 
Earth  with  her  haughty  shadow,  and  display'd, 
Until  the  o'er-canopied  horizon  fail'd, 
Her  rushing  wings — Oh !  she  who  was  Almighty  hail'd  ? 

LXXXV. 

Sylla  was  first  of  victors;  but  our  own, 
The  sagest  of  usurpers,  Cromwell ;  he 
Too  swept  off  senates  while  he  hew'd  the  throne 
Down  to  a  block — immortal  rebel !     See 
What  crimes  it  costs  to  be  a  moment  free 
And  famous  through  all  ages  !  but  beneath 
His  fate  the  moral  lurks  of  destiny  : 
His  day  of  double  victory  and  death          [breath  .* 
Beheld  him  win  two  realms,  and,  happier,  yield  his 

1  Certainly  were  it  not  for  these  two  traits  in  the  life  of  Sylla, 
alluded  to  in  this  stanza,  we  should  regard  him  as  a  monster  un- 
redeemed by  any  admirable  quality.  The  atonement  of  his  volun- 
tary resignation  of  empire  may  perhaps  be  accepted  by  us,  as  it 
seems  to  have  satisfied  the  Romans,  who  if  they  had  not  respected 
must  have  destroyed  him.  There  could  be  no  mean,  no  division 
of  opinion;  they  must  have  all  thought,  like  Eucrates,  that  what 
had  appeared  ambition  was  a  love  of  glory,  and  that  what  had 
been  mistaken  for  pride  was  a  real  grandeur  of  soul. — ("  Seigneur, 
vous  changez  toutes  mes  idees  de  la  fa$on  dont  je  vous  vois  agir. 
Je  croyais  que  vous  aviez  de  1'ambition,  mais  aucune  amour  pour 
la  gloire :  je  voyais  bien  que  votre  ame  etait  haute ;  mais  je  ne 
soup9onnais  pas  qu'elle  fut  grande." — Dialogues  de  Sylla  et 
tTEucrate.} 

*  On  the  3d  of  September  Cromwell  gained  the  victory  of  Dun- 
bar  :  a  year  afterwards  he  obtained  "  his  crowning  mercy"  of 
Worcester;  and  a  few  years  after,  on  the  same  day,  which  he  had 
ever  esteemed  the  most  fortunate-  for  him,  died. 


212  CH1LDE   HAROLD'S         CAN.TO  IV. 

LXXXVI. 

The  third  of  the  same  moon  whose  former  course 
Had  all  but  crown'd  him,  on  the  selfsame  day 
Deposed  him  gently  from  his  throne  offeree, 
And  laid  him  with  the  earth's  preceding  clay. 
And  show'd  not  Fortune  thus  how  fame  and  sway 
And  all  we  deem  delightful,  and  consume 
Our  souls  to  compass  through  each  arduous  way, 
Are  in  her  eyes  less  happy  than  the  tomb  ? 
Were  they  but  so  in  man's,  how  different  were  his 
doom! 

LXXXVII. 

And  thou,  dread  statue  !  yet  existent  in1 
The  austerest  form  of  naked  majesty, 
Thou  who  beheldest,  mid  the  assassins'  din, 
At  thy  bathed  base  the  bloody  Caesar  lie, 
Folding  his  robe  in  dying  dignity, 
An  offering  to  thine  altar  from  the  queen 
Of  gods  and  men,  great  Nemesis  !  did  he  die, 
And  thou,  too,  perish,  Pompey  ?  have  ye  been 
Victors  of  countless  kings,  or  puppets  of  a  scene  ? 

LXXXVIII. 

And  thou,  the  thunder-stricken  nurse  of  Rome  !2 
She-wolf!  whose  brazen-imaged  dugs  impart 
The  milk  of  conquest  yet  within  the  dome 
Where,  as  a  monument  of  antique  art, 
Thou  standest : — Mother  of  the  mighty  heart, 
Which  the  great  founder  suck'd  from  thy  wild  teat, 
Scorch'd  by  the  Roman  Jove's  ethereal  dart, 
And  thy  limbs  black  with  lightning — dost  thou 

yet 
Guard  thine  immortal  cubs,   nor   thy  fond  charge 

forget  ? 

*,  *  See  Appendix,  «  Historical  Notes,"  Nos.  XXIV.  XXV. 


CANTO  IV  PILGRIMAGE.  213 

LXXXIX. 

Thou  dost ; — but  all  thy  foster-babes  are  dead — 

The  men  of  iron ;  and  the  world  hath  rear'd 

Cities  from  out  their  sepulchres  :  men  bled 

In  imitation  of  the  things  they  fear'd, 

And  fought  and  conquer'd,  and  the  same  course 

steer'd, 

At  apish  distance ;  but  as  yet  none  have, 
Nor  could,  the  same  supremacy  have  near'd, 
Save  one  vain  man,  who  is  not  in  the  grave, 
But, vanquish'd  by  himself,  to  his  own  slaves  a  slave — 

xc. 

The  fool  of  false  dominion — and  a  kind 
Of  bastard  Csesar,  following  him  of  old 
With  steps  unequc\l ;  for  the  Roman's  mind 
Was  modell'd  in  a  less  terrestrial  mould,1 
With  passions  fiercer,  yet  a  judgment  cold, 
And  an  immortal  instinct  which  redeem'd 
The  frailties  of  a  heart  so  soft,  yet  bold, 
Alcides  with  the  distaff  now  he  seem'd 
At  Cleopatra's  feet, — and  now  himself  he  beam'd, 

xci. 
And  came — and  saw — and  conquer'd!    But  the 

man 

Who  would  have  tamed  his  eagles  down  to  flee, 
Like  a  train 'd  falcon,  in  the  Gallic  van, 
Which  he,  in  sooth,  long  led  to  victory, 
With  a  deaf  heart  which  never  seem'd  to  be 
A  listener  to  itself,  was  strangely  framed ; 
With  but  one  weakest  weakness — vanity, 
Coquettish  in  ambition — still  he  aim'd — 
At  what?  can  he  avouch — or  answer  what  he  clao^  r  ? 

»  See  Appendix,  "Historical  Notes,"  No.  XX v\ 


2i?4  CHILDE  HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV 

XCII. 

And  would  be  all  or  nothing — nor  could  wait 
For  the  sure  grave  to  level  him  ;  few  years 
Had  fix'd  him  with  the  Caesars  in  his  fate, 
On  whom  we  tread  :  For^this  the  conqueror  rears 

The  arch  of  triumph  !  arid  for  this  the  tears. 
And  blood  of  earth  flow  on  as  they  have  flow'd, 
An  universal  deluge,  which  appears 
Without  an  ark  for  wretched  man's  abode, 
And  ebbs  but  to  reflow ! — Renew  thy  rainbow,  God  ! 

XCIII. 

What  from  this  barren  being  do  we  reap  ? 
Our  senses  narrow,  and  our  reason  frail,1 
Life  short,  and  truth  a  gem  which  loves  the  deep, 
And  all  things  weigh'd  in  custom's  falsest  scale  ; 
Opinion  an  omnipotence, — whose  veil 
Mantles  the  earth  with  darkness,  until  right 
And  wrong  are  accidents,  and  men  grow  pale 
Lest  their  own  judgments  should  become  too  bright, 
And  their  free  thoughts  be  crimes,  and  earth  have  too 
much  light. 

xciv. 

And  thus  they  plod  in  sluggish  misery, 
Rotting  from  sire  to  son,  and  age  to  age, 
Proud  of  their  trampled  nature,  and  so  die, 
Bequeathing  their  hereditary  rage 

1 "  Omnes  pene  veteres ;  qui  nihil  cognosci,  nihil  percepi, 

n;nil  sciri  posse  dixerunt;  angustos  sensus  ;  imbecillos  animos, 
brevia  curricula  vitae ;  in  profundo  veritatem  demersam ;  opinioni- 
bus  et  institutis  omnia  teneri ;  nihil  veritati  relinqui :  deinceps 
omnia  tenebris  circurnfusa  esse  dixerunt." — Academ.  1.  13.  The 
eighteen  hundred  years  which  have  elapsed  since  Cicero  wrote 
this,  have  not  removed  any  of  the  imperfections  of  humanity :  and 
the  complaints  of  the  ancient  philosophers  may,  without  injus- 
tice or  affectation,  be  transcribed  in  a  poem  written  yesterday. 


CANTO  IV.  P 1  L  G  R  I  M  A  G  E.  215 

To  the  new  race  of  inborn  slaves,  who  wage 
War  for  their  chains,  and,  rather  than  be  free, 
Bleed  gladiator-like,  and  still  engage 
Within  the  same  arena  where  they  see 
Their  fellows  fall  before,  like  leaves  of  the  same  tree^. 

xcv. 

I  speak  not  of  men's  creeds — they  rest  between 
Man  and  his  Maker — but  of  things  allowed, 
Averr'd,  and  known, — and  daily,  hourly  seen — 
The  yoke  that  is  upon  us  doubly  bow'd, 
And  the  intent  of  tyranny  avow'd, 
The  edict  of  earth's  rulers,  who  are  grown 
The  apes  of  him  who  humbled  once  the  proud, 
And  shook  them  from  their  slumbers  on  the  throne  ; 
Too  glorious,  were  this  all  his  mighty  arm  had 
done. 

Q(& 

XCVI. 

Can  tyrants  but  by  tyrants  conquer'd  be, 
And  Freedom  find  no  champion  and  no  child 
Such  as  Columbia  saw  arise  when  she 
Sprung  forth  a  Pallas,  arm'd  and  undefiled  ? 
Or  must  such  minds  be  nourish'd  in  the  wild, 
Deep  in  the  unpruned  forest,  midst  the  roar 
Of  cataracts,  where  nursing  Nature  smiled 
On  infant  Washington  ?     Has  earth  no  more 
Such  seeds  within  her  breast,  or  Europe  no  such 
shore  ? 

xcvu. 

But  France  got  drunk  with  blood  to  vomit  crime ; 
And  fatal  have  her  Saturnalia  been 
To  Freedom's  cause,  in  every  age  and  clime  ; 
Because  the  deadly  days  which  we  have  seen, 
And  vile  Ambition,  that  built  up  between 


216  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

Man  and  his  hopes  an  adamantine  wall, 
And  the  base  pageant  last  upon  the  scene, 
Are  grown  the  pretext  for  the  eternal  thrall 
Which  nips  life's  tree,  and  dooms  man's  worst — his 
second  fall. 

XCVIII. 

Yet,  Freedom  !  yet  thy  banner,  torn,  but  flying, 
Streams  like  the  thunder-storm  against  the  wind ; 
Thy  trumpet  voice,  though  broken  now  and  dying, 
The  loudest  still  the  tempest  leaves  behind ; 
Thy  tree  hath  lost  its  blossoms,  and  the  rind, 
Chopp'd  by  the  axe,  looks  rough  and  little  worth, 
But  the  sap  lasts, — and  still  the  seed  we  find 
Sown  deep,  even  in  the  bosom  of  the  North  ; 
So  shall  a  better  spring  less  bitter  fruit  bring  forth. 

xcix. 

There  is  a  stern  round  tower  of  other  days,1 
Firm  as  a  fortress,  with  its  fence  of  stone, 
Such  as  an  army's  baffled  strength  delays, 
Standing  with  half  its  battlements  alone, 
And  with  two  thousand  years  of  ivy  grown, 
The  garland  of  eternity,  where  wave 
The  green  leaves  over  all  by  time  o'erthrown  ; — 
What  was  this  tower  of  strength?  within  its  cave 
f  hat  treasure  lay  so  lock'd,  so  hid? — A  woman's  grave. 

c. 

But  who  was  she,  the  lady  of  the  dead, 
Tomb'd  in  a  palace  ?     Was  she  chaste  and  fair  ? 
Worthy  a  king's — or  more — a  Roman's  bed  ? 
What  race  of  chiefs  and  heroes  did  she  bear  ? 
What  daughter  of  her  beauties  was  the  heir  ? 

1  Alluding  to  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella,  called  Capo  di 
Uove.     See  "  Historical  Illustrations,"  p.  200. 


PILGRIMAGE.  217 

How  lived — how  loved — how  died  she  ?    Was  she 
So  honour'd — and  conspicuously  there,  [not 

Where  meaner  relics  must  not  dare  to  rot, 
Placed  to  commemorate  a  more  than  mortal  lot  ? 

Wt-       "  -i_  b^Hfcltf    <ffL  ^r 

^  CI. 

Was  she  as  those  who  love  their  lords,  or  they 
Who  love  the  lords  of  others  ?  such  have  been 
Even  in  the  olden  time,  Rome's  annals  say. 
Was  she  the  matron  of  Cornelia's  mien, 
Or  the  light  air  of  Egypt's  graceful  queen, 
Profuse  of  joy — or  'gainst  it  did  she  war, 
-  Inveterate  in  virtue  ?     Did  she  lean 

To  the  soft  side  of  the  heart,  or  wisely  bar 
Love  from  amongst  her  griefs? — for  such  the  affections 
are. 

en. 

Perchance  she  died  in  youth :  it  may  be,  bow'd 
With  woes  far  heavier  than  the  ponderous  tomb 
That  weigh'd  upon  her  gentle  dust,  a  cloud 
Might  gather  o'er  her  beauty,  and  a  gloom 
In  her  dark  eye,  prophetic  of  the  doom 
Heaven  gives  its  favourites — early  death ;  yet  shed1 
A  sunset  charm  around  her,  and  illume 
With  hectic  light,  the  Hesperus  of  the  dead, 
Of  her  consuming  cheek  the  autumnal  leaf-like  red. 

cm. 

Perchance  she  died  in  age — surviving  all, 
Charms,  kindred,  children — with  the  silver  gray 
On  her  long  tresses,  which  might  yet  recall, 
It  may  be,  still  a  something  of  the  day 
When  they  were  braided,  and  her  proud  array 

*Oi>  ol  Stoi  <t>i\ov(riv,  &iro9vf\am  trios' 
Td  yan  SavtTv  oi>x  aiaxpov,  dAX'  aioxptoy  SaveTv 

Rich.  Franc.  Phil.  Branck.     Poefce  Gnomici.  p.  231.  edit.  1784. 
n 


218  C  HI  LDE   HAROLD'S         CA.NTO  IV. 

Arid  lovely  form  were  envied,  praised,  and  eyed 
By  Rome — But  whither  would  Conjecture  stray  ? 
Thus  much  alone  we  know — Metella  died, 
The  wealthiest  Roman's  wife :  Behold  his  love  or  pride . 

civ. 

I  know  not  why — but  standing  thus  by  thee, 
It  seems  as  if  I  had  thine  inmate  known, 
Thou  tomb  !  and  other  days  come  back  on  me 
With  recollected  music,  though  the  tone 
Is  changed  and  solemn,  like  the  cloudy  groan 
Of  dying  thunder  on  the  distant  wind; 
Yet  could  I  seat  me  by  this  ivied  stone 
Till  I  had  bodied  forth  the  heated  mind,    [behind;1 
Forms  from  the  floating  wreck  which  Ruin  leaves 

cv. 

And  from  the  planks,  far  shatter'd  o'er  the  rocks, 
Built  me  a  little  bark  of  hope,  once  more 
To  battle  with  the  ocean  and  the  shocks 
Of  the  loud  breakers,  and  the  ceaseless  roar 
Which  rushes  on  the  solitary  shore 
Where  all  lies  founder'd  that  was  ever  dear : 
But  could  I  gather  from  the  wave-worn  store 
Enough  for  my  rude  boat,  where  should  I  steer,? 
There  woos  no  home,  nor  hope,  nor  life,  save  what  is 

•TTgift  — 

1  [Four  words,  and  two  initials,  compose  the  whole  of  the  in- 
scription, which,  whatever  was  its  ancient  position,  is  now  placed 
in  front  of  this  towering  sepulchre:  C^CILUS  .  Q  .  CRETICI  . 
F  .  METELL^E  .  CRASSI.  It  is  more  likely  to  have  heen  the  pride 
than  the  love  of  Crassus,  which  raised  so  superb  a  memorial  to  a 
wife  whose  name  is  not  mentioned  in  history,  unless  she  be  sup- 
pos^d  to  be  that  lady  whose  intimacy  with  Dolabella  was  so 
offensive  to  Tullia,  the  daughter  of  Cicero;  cr  she  who  was 
divorced  by  Lentulus  Spinther ;  or  she,  perhaps  the  same  person, 
trom  whose  ear  the  son  of  ./Esopus  transferred  a  precious  jewel 
l-j  enrich  his  daughter. — HOBHOUSE.] 

>•  •*' 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  219 

CVI. 

Then  let  the  winds  howl  on  !  their  harmony 
Shall  henceforth  be  my  music,  and  the  night 
The  sound  shall  temper  with  the  owlet's  cry, 
As  I  now  hear  them,  in  the  fading  light 
Dim  o'er  the  bird  of  darkness'  native  site, 
Answering  each  other  on  the  Palatine, 
With  their  large  eyes,  all  glistening  gray  and  bright, 
And  sailing  pinions. — Upon  such  a  shrine 
What  are  our  petty  griefs? — let  me  not  number  mine. 

cvn. 

Cypress  and  ivy,  weed  and  wallflower  grown 
Matted  and  mass'd  together,  hillocks  heap'd 
On  what  were  chambers,  arch  crush'd  column  stro  wn 
In  fragments,  choked  up  vaults,  and  frescos  steep'd 
In  subterranean  damps,  where  the  owl  peep'd, 
Deeming  it  midnight : — Temples,  baths,  or  halls  ? 
Pronounce  who  can  ;  for  all  that  Learning  reap'd 
From  her  research  hath  been,  that  these  are  walls — 
Behold  the  Imperial  Mount !  'tis  thus  the  mighty  falls.1 

cvur. 

There  is  the  moral  of  all  human  tales  ;2 
'Tis  but  the  same  rehearsal  of  the  past, 
First  Freedom,  and  then  Glory — when  that  fails, 
Wealth,  vice,  corruption, — barbarism  at  last. 

1  The  Palatine  is  one  mass  of  ruins,  particularly  on  the  side 
towards  the  Circus  Maximus.  The  very  soil  is  formed  of  crum- 
bled brickwork.  Nothing  has  been  told,  nothing  can  be  told,  to 
satisfy  the  belief  of  any  but  a  Roman  antiquary.  See  "  Historical 
Illustrations,"  p.  206. — ["The  voice  of  Marius  could  not  sound 
more  deep  and  solemn  among  the  ruined  arches  of  Carthage,  than 
1  he  strains  of  the  Pil  trim  amid  the  broken  shrines  and  fallen 
statues  of  her  subduer." — SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.  J 

*  The  author  of  the  life  of  Cicero,  speaking  of  the  opinion 
entertained  of  Britain  by  that  orator  and  his  contemporary  Romans, 


. 


2-20  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

i  I  And  History,  with  all  her  volumes  vast, 
if  Hath  but  one  page, — 'tis  better  written  here, 
~VV here  gorgeous*"Tyranny  hath  thus  amass'd 
All  treasures,  all  delights,  that  eye  or  ear, 
Heart,   soul   could  seek,  tongue   ask — Away    with 
words !  draw  near, 


cix. 

Admire,  exult — despise — laugh,  weep, — for  here 
There  is  such  matter  for  all  feeling : — Man ! 
Thou  pendulum  betwixt  a  smile  and  tear, 
Ages  and  realms  are  crowded  in  this  span, 
This  mountain,  whose  obliterated  plan 
The  pyramid  of  empires  pinnacled, 
Of  Glory's  gewgaws  shining  in  the  van 
Till  the  sun's  rays  with  added  flame  were  fill'd  ! 
Where  are  its  golden  roofs  ?  where  those  who  dared 
to  build  ? 


has  the  following  eloquent  passage  : — "  From  their  railleries  of 
this  kind,  on  the  barbarity  and  misery  of  our  island,  one  cannot 
help  reflecting  on  the  surprising  fate  and  revolutions  of  kingdoms ; 
how  Rome,  once  the  mistress  of  the  world,  the  seat  of  arts,  empire, 
and  glory,  now  lies  sunk  in  sloth,  ignorance,  and  poverty,  enslaved 
to  the  most  cruel  as  well  as  to  the  most  contemptible  of  tyrants, 
superstition  and  religious  imposture  :  while  this  remote  country, 
anciently  the  jest  and  contempt  of  the  polite  Romans,  is  become 
the  happy  seat  of  liberty,  plenty,  and  letters;  flourishing  in  all  the 
arts  and  refinements  of  civil  life ;  yet,  running,  perhaps,  the  same 
course  which  Rome  itself  had  run  before  it,  from  virtuous  industry 
to  wealth ;  from  wealth  to  luxury ;  from  luxury  to  an  impatience 
of  discipline,  and  corruption  of  morals :  till,  by  a  total  degeneracy 
and  loss  of  virtue,  being  grown  ripe  for  destruction,  it  fall  a  prey 
at  last  to  some  hardy  oppressor,  and,  with  the  loss  of  liberty, 
losing  every  thing  that  is  valuable,  sinks  gradually  again  into  its 
original  barbarism."  (See  History  of  the  Life. of  M.  Tullius 
Cicero,  sect.  vi.  vol.  ii.  p.  102.) 


CANTO  IV.  P I  L  G  R  I  M  A  G  E.  221 

ex. 

Tuily  was  not  so  eloquent  as  thou, 
Thou  nameless  column  with  the  buried  base  ! 
What  are  the  laurels  of  the  Caesar's  brow  ? 
Crown  me  with  ivy  from  his  dwelling-place. 
Whose  arch  or  pillar  meets  me  in  the  face, 
Titus  or  Trajan's  ?     No — 'tis  that  of  Time  : 
Triumph,  arch,  pillar,  all  he  doth  displace 
Scoffing  ;  and  apostolic  statues  climb 
To  crush  the  imperial  urn,  whose  ashes  slept  sublime,1 

cxr. 

Buried  in  air,  the  deep  blue  sky  of  Rome, 
And  looking  to  the  stars:  they  had  contained 
A  spirit  which  with  these  would  find  a  home, 
The  last  of  those  who  o'er  the  whole  earth  reign'd, 
The  Roman  globe,  for  after  none  sustain'd, 
But  yielded  back  his  conquest : — he  was  more 
Than  a  mere  Alexander,  and,  unstain'd 
With  household  blood  and  wine,  serenely  wore 
His  sovereign  virtues — still  we  Trajan's  name  adore.2 

1  The  column  of  Trajan  is  surmounted  by  St.  Peter;  that  of 
Aurelius  by  St.  Paul.  See  "Historical  Illustrations,"  p.  214. 

a  Trajan  was  proverbially  the  best  of  the  Roman  princes ;  and 
it  would  be  easier  to  find  a  sovereign  uniting  exactly  the  opposite 
characteristics,  than  one  possessed  of  all  the  happy  qualities 
ascribed  to  this  emperor.  "When  he  mounted  the  throne,"  says 
the  historian  Dion,  "he  was  strong  in  body,  he  was  vigorous  in 
mind ;  age  had  impaired  none  of  his  faculties ;  he  was  altogether 
free  from  envy  and  from  detraction ;  he  honoured  all  the  good, 
and  he  advanced  them ;  and  on  this  account  they  could  not  be  the 
objects  of  his  fear,  or  of  his  hate;  he  never  listened  to  informers ; 
he  gave  not  way  to  his  anger;  he  abstained  equally  from  unfair 
exactions  and  unjust  punishments ;  he  had  rather  be  loved  as  a 
man  than  honoured  as  a  sovereign;  he  was  affable  with  his  peo- 
ple, respectful  to  the  senate,  and  universally  beloved  by  both ;  he 
inspired  none  with  dread  but  the  enemies  of  his  country."  See 
Eutrop.  Brev.  Hist.  Rom.  lib.  viii.  c.  5.  Dion.  Hist.  Rom.  lib. 
Ixiii.  c.  6,  7. 


222  CHILDE    HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

CXII. 

Where  is  the  rock  of  Triumph,  the  high  place 
Where  Rome  embraced  her  heroes?  where  the  steep 
Tarpeian  ?  fittest  goal  for  Treason's  race, 
The  promontory  whence  the  Traitor's  Leap 
Cured  all  ambition.     Did  the  conquerors  heap 
Their  spoils  here  ?     Yes  ;  and  in  yon  field  below, 
A  thousand  years  of  silenced  factions  sleep — 
The  Forum,  where  the  immortal  accents  glow, 
And  still  the  eloquent  air  breathes — burns  with  Cicero ! 

CXIII. 

The  field  of  freedom,  faction,  fame,  and  blood : 
Here  a  proud  people's  passions  were  exhaled, 
From  the  first  hour  of  empire  in  the  bud 
To  that  when  further  worlds  to  conquer  failed  ; 
But  long  before  had  Freedom's  face  been  veil'd, 
And  Anarchy  assumed  her  attributes ; 
Till  every  lawless  soldier  who  assail'd 
Trod  on  the  trembling  senate's  slavish  mutes, 
Or  raised  the  venal  voice  of  baser  prostitutes. 

CXIV. 

Then  turn  we  to  her  latest  tribune's  name, 
From  her  ten  thousand  tyrants  turn  to  thee, 
Redeemer  of  dark  centuries  of  shame — 
The  friend  of  Petrarch — hope  of  Italy — 
Rienzi !  last  of  Romans  P1     While  the  tree 
Of  freedom's  wither'd  trunk  puts  forth  a  leaf, 
Even  for  thy  tomb  a  garland  let  it  be — 
The  forum's  champion,  and  the  people's  chief — 
Her  new-born  Numa  thou — with  reign, alas !  too  brief. 

1  The  name  and  exploits  of  Rienzi  must  be  familiar  to  the 
reader  of  Gibbon.  Some  details  and  inedited  manuscripts,  rela- 
uve  to  this  unhappy  hero,  will  be  seen  in  the  "Historical  Illus- 
trations of  the  Fourth  Canto,"  p.  248 


CANTO  IV.  I  L  G  R  I  M  A  G  E.  2-23 

cxv. 

£]geria  !  sweet  creation  of  some  heart1 
Which  found  no  mortal  resting-place  so  fair 
As  thine  ideal  breast ;  whate'er  thou  art 
Or  wert, — a  young  Aurora  of  the  air, 
The  nympholepsy  of  some  fond  despair; 
Or,  it  might  be,  a  beauty  of  the  earth, 
Who  found  a  more  than  common  votary  there 
Too  much  adoring ;  whatsoe'er  thy  birth, 
Thou  wert  a  beautiful  thought,  and  softly  bodied  forth. 

ex  vi. 

The  mosses  of  thy  fountain  still  are  sprinkled 
With  thine  Elysian  water-drops ;  the  face 
Of  thy  cave-guarded  spring,  with  years  unwrinkled, 
Reflects  the  meek-^yed  genius  of  the  place, 
Whose  green,  wild  margin  now  no  more  erase 
Art's  works ;  nor  must  the  delicate  waters  sleep, 
Prison'd  in  marble,  bubbling  from  the  base 
Of  the  cleft  statue,  with  a  gentle  leap 
The  rill  runs  o'er,  and  round,  fern,  flowers,  and  ivy, 
creep, 

ex  vii. 

Fantastically  tangled  :  the  green  hills 
Are  clothed  with  early  blossoms,  through  the  grass 
The  quick-eyed  lizard  rustles,  and  the  bills 
Of  summer-birds  sing  welcome  as  ye  pass  ; 
Flowers  fresh  in  hue,  and  many  in  their  class, 
Implore  the  pausing  step,  and  with  their  dyes 
Dance  in  the  soft  breeze  in  a  fairy  mass ; 
The  sweetness  of  the  violet's  deep  blue  eyes, 
Kiss'd  by  the  breath  of  heaven,  seems  colour'd  by  its 
skies. 

1  See  Appendix,  "  Historical  Notes,"  No.  XXVII. 


224  CHILDE    HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV 

CXVIII. 

Here  didst  thou  dwell,  in  this  enchanted  cover, 
Egeria  !  thy  all  heavenly  bosom  beating 
For  the  far  footsteps  of  thy  mortal  lover ; 
The  purple  Midnight  veil'd  that  mystic  meeting 
With  her  most  starry  canopy,  and  seating 
Thyself  by  thine  adorer,  what  befell? 
This  cave  was  surely  shaped  out  for  the  greeting 
Of  an  enamour'd  goddess,  and  the  cell 
Haunted  by  holy  Love — the  earliest  oracle  ! 


CXIX. 

And  didst  thou  not,  thy  breast  to  his  replying, 
Blend  a  celestial  with  a  human  heart ; 
And  Love,  which  dies  as  it  was  born,  in  sighing, 
Share  with  immortal  transports  ?  could  thine  art 
Make  them  indeed  immortal,  and  impart 
The  purity  of  heaven  to  earthly  joys, 
Expel  the  venom  and  not  blunt  the  dart — 
The  dull  satiety  which  all  destroys — 
And  root  from  out  the  soul  the  deadly  weed  which 
cloys  ? 

cxx. 

Alas !  our  young  affections  run  to  waste, 

Or  water  but  the  desert ;  whence  arise 

But  weeds  of  dark  luxuriance,  tares  of  haste, 

Rank  at  the  core,  though  tempting  to  the  eyes, 

Flowers  whose  wild  odours  breathe  but  agonies, 

And  trees   whose   gums   are    poison  ;    such  the 

plants 

Which  spring  beneath  her  steps  as  Passion  flies 
O'er  the  world's  wilderness,  and  vainly  pants 
For  some  celestial  fruit  forbidden  to  our  wants. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  225 

CXXI. 

Oh  Love  !  no  habitant  of  earth  art  thou — 
An  unseen  seraph,  we  believe  in  thee, 
A  faith  whose  martyrs  are  the  broken  heart, 
But  never  yet  hath  seen,  nor  e'er  shall  see 
The  naked  eye,  thy  form,  as  it  should  be ; 
The  mind  hath  made  thee,  as  it  peopled  heaven, 
Even  with  its  own  desiring  fantasy, 
And  to  a  thought  such  shape  and  image  given, 
As  haunts  the  unquench'd  soul — parch'd — wearied — 
wrung — and  riven. 

CXXII. 

Of  its  own  beauty  is  the  mind  diseased, 
And  fevers  into  false  creation : — where, 
Where  are  the  forms  the  sculptor's  soul  hath  seized  ? 
In  him  alone.     Can  Nature  show  so  fair  ? 
Where  are  the  charms  and  virtues  which  we  dare 
Conceive  in  boyhood  and  pursue  as  men, 
The  unreach'd  Paradise  of  our  despair, 
Which  o'er-informs  the  pencil  and  the  pen, 
And  overpowers  the  page  where  it  would  bloom 
again? 

C  XXIII. 

Who   loves,  raves — 'tis  youth's  frenzy — but  the 

cure 

Is  bitterer  still ;  as  charm  by  charm  unwinds 
Which  robed  our  idols,  and  we  see  too  sure 
Nor  worth  nor  beauty  dwells  from  out  the  mind's 
Ideal  shape  of  such  ;  yet  still  it  binds 
The  fatal  spell,  and  still  it  draws  us  on, 
Reaping  the  whirlwind  from  the  oft-sown  winds ; 
The  stubborn  heart,  its  alchymy  begun, 
Seems  ever  near  the  prize — wealthiest  when  most 

undone. 


226  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV. 

CXXIV. 

We  wither  from  our  youth,  we  gasp  away — 
Sick — sick ;  unfound  the  boon — unslaked  the  thirst, 
Though  to  the  last,  in  verge  of  our  decay, 
Some  phantom  lures,  such  as  we  sought  at  first — 
But  all  too  late, — so  are  we  doubly  curst. 
Love,  fame,  ambition,  avarice — 'tis  the  same, 
Each  idle — and  all  ill — and  none  the  worst — 
For  all  are  meteors  with  a  different  name, 
And  Death  the  sable  smoke  where  vanishes   the 
flame. 

cxxv. 

Few — none — find  what  they  love  or  could  have 

loved, 

Though  accident,  blind  contact,  and  the  strong 
Necessity  of  loving,  have  removed 
Antipathies — but  to  recur,  ere  long, 
Envenom'd  with  irrevocable  wrong ; 
And  Circumstance,  that  unspiritual  god 
And  miscreator,  makes  and  helps  along 
Our  coming  evils  with  a  crutch-like  rod, 
Whose  touch  turns  Hope  to  dust, — the  dust  we  all 
have  trod. 

cxxvi. 

Our  life  is  a  false  nature — 'tis  not  in 
The  harmony  of  things, — this  hard  decree, 
This  uneradicable  taint  of  sin, 
This  boundless  upas,  this  all-blasting  tree, 
Whose  root  is  earth,  whose  leaves  and  branches  be 
The  skies  which  rain  their  plagues  on  men  likedew — 
Disease,  death,  bondage — all  the  woes  we  see — 
And  worse,  the  woes  we  see  not — which  throb 

through 
The  immedicable  soul,  with  heartaches  ever  new 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAG  E.  227 

CXXVII. 

Yet  let  us  ponder  boldly — 'tis  a  base1 
Abandonment  of  reason  to  resign 
Our  right  of  thought — our  last  and  only  place 
Of  refuge  ;  this,  at  least,  shall  still  be  mine  : 
Though  from  our  birth  the  faculty  divine 
Is  chain'd  and  tortured — cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined, 
And  bred  in  darkness,  lest  the  truth  should  shine 
Too  brightly  on  the  unprepared  mind, 
The  beam  pours  in,  for  time  and  skill  will  couch 
the  blind. 

CXXVIII. 

Arches  on  arches  !  as  it  were  that  Rome, 
Collecting  the  chief  trophies  of  her  line, 
Would  build  up  all  her  triumphs  in  one  dome, 
Her  Coliseum  stands ;  the  moonbeams  shine 
As  'twere  its  natural  torches,  for  divine 
Should  be  the  light  which  streams  here,  to  illume 
This  long-explored  but  still  exhaustless  mine 
Of  contemplation;  and  the  azure  gloom 
Of  an  Italian  night,  where  the  deep  skies  assume 

1  "  At  all  events,"  says  the  author  of  the  Academical  Questions, 
"  I  trust,  whatever  may  be  the  fate  of  my  own  speculations,  that 
philosophy  will  regain  that  estimation  which  it  ought  to  possess. 
The  free  and  philosophic  spirit  of  our  nation  has  been  the  theme 
of  admiration  to  the  world.  This  was  the  proud  distinction  of 
Englishmen,  and  the  luminous  source  of  all  their  glory.  Shall  we 
then  forget  the  manly  and  dignified  sentiments  of  our  ancestors, 
to  prate  in  the  language  of  the  mother  or  the  nurse  about  our 
good  old  prejudices  ?  This  is  not  the  way  to  defend  the  cause  of 
truth.  It  was  not  thus  that  our  fathers  maintained  it  in  the  bril- 
liant periods  of  our  history.  Prejudice  may  be  trusted  to  guard 
the  outworks  for  a  short  space  of  time,  while  reason  slumbers  in. 
the  citadel ;  but  if  the  latter  sink  into  a  lethargy,  the  former  wiK 
quickly  erect  a  standard  for  herself.  Philosophy,  wisdom,  ana 
liberty  support  each  ether ;  he  who  will-not  reason  is  a  bigot;  he 
who  cannot,  is  a  fool ;  and  he  who  dares  not,  is  a  slave." — Vo' , 
.  pref.  p.  11,  15. 


228  CHILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

CXXIX. 

Hues    which  have   words,   and   speak  to  ye  of 

heaven, 

Floats  o'er  this  vast  and  wondrous  monument, 
And  shadows  forth  its  glory.     There  is  given 
Unto  the  things  of  earth,  which  Time  hath  bent, 
A  spirit's  feeling,  and  where  he  hath  leant 
His  hand,  but  broke  his  scythe,  there  is  a  power 
And  magic  in  the  ruin'd  battlement, 
For  which  the  palace  of  the  present  hour 
Must  yield  its  pomp,  and  wait  till   ages  are  its 

dower,    v 

cxxx. 

Oh  Time  !  the  beautifter  of  the  dead, 
Adorner  of  the  ruin,  comforter 
And  only  healer  when  the  heart  hath  bled — 
Time  !  the  corrector  where  our  judgments  err, 
The  test  of  truth,  love, — sole  philosopher, 
For  ah  besides  are  sophists,  from  thy  thrift, 
Which  never  loses  though  it  doth  defer — 
Time,  the  avenger  !  unto  thee  I  lift 
My  hands,  and  eyes,  and  heart,  and  crave  of  thee  a 
gift: 

cxxxi. 

Amidst  this  wreck,  where  thou  hast  made  a  shrine 
And  temple  more  divinely  desolate, 
Among  thy  mightier  offerings  here  are  mine, 
Ruins  of  years — though  few,  yet  full  of  fate : — 
If  thou  hast  ever  seen  me  too  elate, 
Hear  me  not ;  but  if  calmly  I  have  borne 
Good,  and  reserved  my  pride,  against  the  hate 

i     Which  shall  not  whelm  me,  let  me  not  have 
worn 

This  iron  in  my  soul  in  vain — shall  they  not  mourn? 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  229 

CXXXII. 

And  thou,  who  never  yet  of  human  wrong 
Left  the  unbalanced  scale,  great  Nemesis  !' 
Here,  where  the  ancient  paid  thee  homage  long — 
Thou,  who  didst  call  the  Furies  from  the  abyss, 
And  round  Orestes  bade  them  howl  and  hiss 
For  that  unnatural  retribution — just, 
Had  it  not  been  from  hands  less  near — in  this 
Thy  former  realm,  I  call  thee  from  the  dust ! 
Dost  thou  not  hear  my  heart? — Awake!  thou  shalt, 
and  must. 

CXXXIII. 

It  is  not  that  I  may  not  have  incurr'd 
For  my  ancestral  faults  or  mine  the  wound 
I  bleed  withal,  and,  had  it  been  conferr'd 
With  a  just  weapon,  it  had  flown  unbound  ; 
But  now  my  blood  shall  not  sink  in  the  ground ; 
To  thee  I  do  devote  it — thou  shalt  take 
The  vengeance,  which  shall  yet  be  sought  and 
found, 

Which  if  /  have  not  taken  for  the  sake 

But  let  that  pass — I  sleep,  but  thou  shalt  yet  awake. 

cxxxiv. 

And  if  my  voice  break  forth,  'tis  not  that  now 
I  shrink  from  what  is  suffer'd  :  let  him  speak 
Who  hath  beheld  decline  upon  my  brow, 
Or  seen  my  mind's  convulsion  leave  it  weak ; 
But  in  this  page  a  record  will  I  seek. 
Not  in  the  air  shall  these  my  words  disperse, 
Though  I  be  ashes ;  a  far  hour  shall  wreak 
The  deep  prophetic  fulness  of  this  verse, 
And  pile   on  human 'heads   the  mountain  of  my 
curse ! 

1  See  Appendix,  "  Historical  Notes,"  No.  XXVIII. 
20 


230  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV. 

cxxxv. 

That  curse  shall  be  forgiveness. — Have  I  not — 

Hear  me,   my    mother  earth !    behold  it,    Hea- 
ven— 

Have  I  not  had  to  wrestle  with  my  lot  ? 

Have  I  not  suffer'd  things  to  be  forgiven? 

Have  I  not  had  my  brain  sear'd,  my  heart  riven, 

Hopes   sapp'd,   name    blighted,    Life's    life    lied 
away? 

And  only  not  to  desperation  driven, 

Because  not  altogether  of  such  clay 
As  rots  into  the  souls  of  those  whom  I  survey. 


CXXXVI. 

From  mighty  wrongs  to  petty  perfidy 
Have  I  not  seen  what  human  things  could  do  ? 
From  the  loud  roar  of  foaming  calumny 
To  the  small  whisper  of  the  as  paltry  few, 
And  subtler  venom  of  the  reptile  crew, 
The  Janus  glance  of  whose  significant  eye, 
Learning  to  lie  with  silence,  would  seem  true, 
And  without  utterance,  save  the  shrug  or  sigh, 
Deal  round  to  happy  fools  its  speechless  obloquy.1 


1  [Between  stanzas  cxxxv.  and  cxxxvi.  we  find  in  the  origi- 
nal MS.  the  following  :— 
"  If  to  forgive  be  heaping  coals  of  fire — 

As  God  hath  spoken — on  the  heads  of  foes, 

Mine  should  be  a  volcano,  and  rise  higher 

Than,  o'er  the  Titans  crush'd,  Olympus  rose, 

Or  Athos  soars,  or  blazing  Etna  glows : — 

True,  they  who  stung  were  creeping  things ;  but  what 

Than  serpents'  teeth  inflicts  with  deadlier  throes  1 

The  lion  may  be  goaded  by  the  gnat. — 

Who   sucks  the  slumberer's    blood1? — The  eagle] — No:   the 
bat."] 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  231 

CXXXVII. 

But  I  have  lived,  and  have  not  lived  in  vain  : 
My  mind  may  lose  its  force,  my  blood  its  fire, 
And  my  frame  perish  even  in  conquering  pain ; 

//But  there  is  that  within  me  which  shall  tire 
;  Torture  and  Time,  and  breathe  when  I  expire ; 
Something  unearthly,  which  they  deem  not  of, 
Like  the  remernber'd  tone  of  a  mute  lyre, 
Shall  on  their  soften'd  spirits  sink,  and  move 

In  hearts  all  rocky  now  the  late  remorse  of  love. 


CXXXVIII. 

The    seal    is    set. — Now    welcome,    thou  dreaa 

power ! 

Nameless,  yet  thus  omnipotent,  which  here 
Walk'st  in  the  shadow  of  the  midnight,  hour 
With  a  deep  awe,  yet  all  distinct  from  fear ; 
Thy  haunts  are  ever  where  the  dead  walls  rear 
Their  ivy  mantles,  and  the  solemn  scene 
Derives  from  thee  a  sense  so  deep  and  clear, 
That  we  become  a  part  of  what  has  been, 
And  grow  unto  the  spot,  all-seeing  but  unseen. 

CXXXIX. 

And  here  the  buzz  of  eager  nations  ran, 
In  murmur'd  pity,  or  loud-roar'd  applause, 
As  man  was  slaughter'd  by  his  fellow  man. 
And  wherefore  slaughter'd  ?  wherefore,  but  be- 
cause 

Such  were  the  bloody  Circus'  genial  laws, 
And  the  imperial  pleasure. — Wherefore  not? 
What  matters  where  we  fall  to  fill  the  maws 
Of  worms — on  battle-plains  or  listed  spot? 
Both  are  but  theatres  where  the  chief  actors  rot. 


032  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  I1 

CXL. 

I  see  before  me  the  Gladiator  lie  : 
He  leans  upon  his  hand — his  manly  brow 
Consents  to  death,  but  conquers  agony, 
And  his  droop'd  head  sinks  gradually  low — 
And  through  his  side  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow 
From  the  red  gash,  fall  heavy,  one  by  one, 
Like  the  first  of  a  thunder-shower;  and  now 
The  arena  swims  around  him — he  is  gone, 
Ere  ceased  the  inhuman  shout  which  hail'd  the  wretch 
who  won. 


CXLI. 

He  heard  it,  but  he  heeded  not — his  eyes 
Were  with  his  heart,  and  that  was  far  away  ;* 
He  reck'd  not  of  the  life  he  lost  nor  prize, 
But  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  lay, 
There,  were  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play, 


1  Whether  the  wonderful  statue  which  suggested  this  image  be 
alaquearian  gladiator,  which,  in  spite  of  Winkelmann's  criticism, 
has  been  stoutly  maintained  ;  or  whether  it  be  a  Greek  herald,  as 
that  great  antiquary  positively  asserted  ;*  or  whether  it  is  to  be 
thought  a  Spartan  or  barbarian  shield-bearer,  according  to  the 
opinion  of  his  Italian  editor;  it  must  assuredly  seem  a  copy  of 
that  masterpiece  of  Ctesilaus  which  represented  "  a  wounded  man 
dying,  who  perfectly  expressed  what  there  remained  of  life  in 
him."  Montfaucon  and  Maflei  thought  it  the  identical  statue ; 
but  that  statue  was  of  bronze.  The  Gladiator  was  once  in  the 
Villa  Ludovizi,  and  was  bought  by  Clement  XII.  The  right 
arm  is  an  entire  restoration  of  Michael  Angelo. 


*  Either  Polifontes,  herald  of  Laius,  killed  by  (Edipns  ;  or  Cepreas,  herald  of 
Knritheus,  killed  by  the  Athenians  when  he  endeavoured  todrag  the  Heraclidae 
from  the  altar  of  mercy,  and  in  whose  honour  they  instituted  annual  games, 
continued  to  the  time  of  Hadrian  ;  or  Anthemocritus,  the  Athenian  herald, 
killed  by  the  Megarenses,  who  never  recovered  the  impiety.  See  Storia  delle 
Arti.  &.c.  loin.  ii.  pag.  203—207,  lib.  ix.  cap.  ii. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  233 

There  was  their  Dacian  mother — he,  their  sire, 
Butcher'd  to  make  a  Roman  holiday — ' 
All  this  rush'd  with  his  blood — Shall  he  expire 
And  unavenged? — Arise!  ye  Goths,  and  glut  your 
ire! 

CXLII. 

But  here,  where  Murder  breathed  her  bloody  steam  j. 
And  here,  where  buzzing  nations  choked  the  ways, 
And  roar'd  or  murmur'd  like  a  mountain  stream 
Dashing  or  winding  as  its  torrent  strays ; 
Here,  where  the  Roman  million's  blame  or  praise 
Was  death  or  life,  the  playthings  of  a  crowd,2 
My  voice  soundsmuch — and  fall  the  stars'  faint  rays 
On  the  arena  void — seats  crush'd — walls  bow'd — 
And  galleries,  where  my  steps  seem  echoes  strangely 
loud. 

CXLIII. 

A  ruin — yet  what  ruin  !  from  its  mass 
Walls,  palaces,  half-cities,  have  been  rear'd; 
Yet  oft  the  enormous  skeleton  ye  pass, 
And  marvel  where  the  spoil  could  have  appear'd. 
Hath  it  indeed  been  plunder'd,  or  but  clear'd  ? 
Alas  !  developed,  opens  the  decay, 
When  the  colossal  fabric's  form  is  near'd : 
It  will  not  bear  the  brightness  of  the  day,     [away. 
Which  streams  too  much  on  all  years,  man,  have  reft 

CXLIV. 

But  when  the  rising  moon  begins  to  climb 
Its  topmost  arch,  and  gently  pauses  there  ; 
When  the  stars  twinkle  through  the  loops  of  time, 
And  the  low  night-breeze  waves  along  the  air 
The  garland-forest,  which  the  gray  walls  wear, 

\  «  See  Appendix,  "Historical  Xot-s,"  Nos.  XXIX.  XXX. 
aw* 


234  C  II I  L  I)  E    II  A  R  O  L  D '  S         CANTO  IV. 

Like  laurels  on  the  bald  first  Caesar's  head  ;' 
When  the  light  shines  serene,  but  doth  not  glare, 
Then  in  this  magic  circle  raise  the  dead: 
Heroes  have  trod  this  spot — 'tis  on  their  dust  ye  tread. 

CXLV. 

"  While  stands  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  stand  ;2 
When  falls  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  fall ;       [land 
And  when  Rome  falls — the  world."  From  our  own 
Thus  spake  the  pilgrims  o'er  this  mighty  wall 
In  Saxon  times,  which  we  are  wont  to  call 
Ancient ;  and  these  three  mortal  things  are  still 
On  their  foundations,  and  unalter'd  all ; 
Rome  and  her  ruin  past  Redemption's  skill,     [will. 
The  world,  the  same  wide  den — of  thieves,  or  what  ye 

CXLVI. 

Simple,  erect,  severe,  austere,  sublime — 
Shrine  of  all  saints  and  temple  of  all  gods, 
From  Jove  to  Jesus — spared  and  blest  by  time  ;3 
Looking  tranquillity,  while  falls  or  nods 
Arch,  empire,  each  thing  round  thee,  and  man  plods 

1  Suetonius  informs  us  that  Julius  C»sar  was  particularly 
gratified  by  that  decree  of  the  senate  which  enabled  him  to  wear 
a  wreath  of  laurel  on  all  occasions.  He  was  anxious,  not  to  show 
that  he  was  the  conqueror  of  the  world,  but  to  hide  that  he  was 
bald.  A  stranger  at  Rome  would  hardly  have  guessed  at  the 
motive,  nor  should  we  without  the  help  of  the  historian. 

8  This  is  quoted  in  the  "  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire," as  a  proof  that  the  Coliseum  was  entire,  when  seen  by  the 
Anglo-Saxon  pilgrims  at  the  end  of  the  seventh,  or  the  beginning 
of  the  eighth  century.  A  notice  on  the  Coliseum  may  be  seen 
in  the  "  Historical  Illustrations,"  p.  263. 

8  "  Though  plundered  of  all  its  brass,  except  the  ring  which 
was  necessary  to  preserve  the  aperture  above ;  though  exposed  to 
repeated  fires ;  though  sometimes  flooded  by  the  river,  and  always 
open  to  the  rain,  no  monument  of  equal  antiquity  is  so  well  pre- 
served as  this  rotunda.  It  passed  with  little  alteration  from  the 
p  igan  into  the  present  worship ;  and  so  convenient  were  its 
niches  for  the  Christian  nltar,  that  Michael  Angelo,  ever  studious 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  235 

His  way  through  thorns  to  ashes — glorious  dome  ! 
Shalt  thou  not  last?  Time's  scythe  and  tyrants'  rods 
Shiver  upon  thee — sanctuary  and  home 

Of  art  and  piety — Pantheon  ! — pride  of  Rome  ! 

CXLVII. 

Relic  of  nobler  days,  and  noblest  arts  ! 
Despoil'd  yet  perfect,  with  thy  circle  spreads 
A  holiness  appealing  to  all  hearts — 
To  art  a  model ;  and  to  him  who  treads 
Rome  for  the  sake  of  ages,  Glory  sheds 
Her  light  through  thy  sole  aperture  ;  to  those 
Who  worship,  here  are  altars  for  their  beads  ; 
And  they  who  feel  for  genius  may  repose    [close.1 

Their  eyes  on  honour 'd  forms,  whose  busts  around  them 

CXLVIII. 

There  is  a  dungeon,  in  whose  dim  drear  light2 
What  do  I  gaze  on  ?     Nothing  :     Look  again  ! 
Two  forms  are  slowly  shadow'd  on  my  sight — 
Two  insulated  phantoms  of  the  brain  : 
It  is  not  so  ;  I  see  them  full  and  plain — 
An  old  man,  and  a  female  young  and  fair, 
Fresh  as  a  nursing  mother,  in  whose  vein 
-The  blood  is  nectar  : — but  what  doth  she  there, 

With  her  unmantled  neck,  and  bosom  white  and  bare? 

of  ancient  beauty,  introduced  their  design  as  a  model  in  the  Ca- 
tholic church." — FORSYTH'S  Italy,  p.  137,  2d  edit. 

1  The  Pantheon  has  been  made  a  receptacle  for  the  busts  of 
modern  great  or,  at  least,  distinguished  men.  The  flood  of  light 
which  once  fell  through  the  large  orb  above  on  the  whole  circle 
of  divinities,  now  shines  on  a  numerous  assemblage  of  mortals, 
some  one  or  two  of  whom  have  been  almost  deified  by  the  vene- 
ration of  their  countrymen.  For  a  notice  of  the  Pantheon,  see 
'  Historical  Illustrations,"  p.  287. 

3  This  and  the  three  next  stanzas  allude  to  the  story  of  the 
Roman  daughter,  which  is  recalled  to  the  traveller  by  the  site, 
or  pretended  site,  of  that  adventure,  now  shown  at  the  church  ol .. 
St.  Nicholas  in  Carcere.  The  difficulties  attendingthe  full  belief 
of  the  tale  ar-  stated  in  "IIis'oric.,1  Illustrations,"  p.  295. 


23C  CIIILDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

CXLIX. 

Full  swells  the  deep  pure  fountain  of  young  life, 
Where  on  the  heart  and  from  the  heart  we  took 
Our  first  and  sweetest  nurture,  when  the  wife, 
Blest  into  mother,  in  the  innocent  look, 
Or  even  the  piping  cry  of  lips  that  brook 
No  pain  and  small  suspense,  a  joy  perceives 
Man  knows  not,  when  from  out  its  cradled  nook 
She  sees  her  little  bud  put  forth  its  leaves — 
What  may  the  fruit  be  yet  ? — I  know  not — Cain  was 
Eve's. 

CL. 

But  here  youth  offers  to  old  age  the  food, 

The  milk  of  his  own  gift : — it  is  her  sire 

To  whom  she  renders  back  the  debt  of  blood 

Born  with  her  birth.     No  ;  he  shall  not  expire 

While  in  those  warm  and  lovely  veins  the  fire 

Of  health  and  holy  feeling  can  provide 

Great   Nature's   Nile,   whose   deep   stream  rises 

higher 

Than  Egypt's  river : — from  that  gentle  side 
Drink,  drink  and  live,  old  man!     Heaven's  realm 

holds  no  such  tide. 

CLI. 

The  slarry  fable  of  the  milky  way 

Has  not  thy  story's  purity  ;  it  is 

A  constellation  of  a  sweeter  ray, 

And  sacred  Nature  triumphs  more  in  this 

Reverse  of  her  decree,  than  in  the  abyss 

Where    sparkle    distant    worlds : — Oh,    holiest 

nurse ! 

No  drop  of  that  clear  stream  its  way  shall  miss 
To  thy  sire's  heart,  replenishing  its  source 
With  life  as  our  freed  souls  rejoin  the  universe. 


CANTO  IV.  P I  L  G  R  I  M  A  (?  E.  '237 

CLII. 

Turn  to  the  mole  which  Hadrian  rear'd  on  high,1 
Imperial  mimic  of  old  Egypt's  piles, 
Colossal  copyist  of  deformity, 
Whose  travell'd  fantasy  from  the  far  Nile's 
Enormous  model,  doom'd  the  artist's  toils 
To  build  for  giants,  and  for  his  vain  earth, 
His  shrunken  ashes,  raise  this  dome:  How  smiles 
The  gazer's  eye  with  philosophic  mirth, 
To  view  the  huge  design  which  sprung  from  such  a 
birth! 

CLIII. 

But^lojjthe_dojsx§ — tne  vast  ar>d  wondrous  dome,* 
To  which  Diana's  marvel  was  a  cell — 
Christ's  mighty  shrine  above  his  martyr's  tomb ! 
I  have  beheld  the  Ephesian's  miracle — 
Its  columns  strew  the  wilderness,  and  dwell 
The  hyaena  and  the  jackal  in  their  shade ; 
I  have  beheld  Sophia's  bright  roofs  swell 
Their  glittering  mass  i'  the  sun,  and  have  sur- 

vey'd 

Its    sanctuary    the    while    the   usurping    Moslem 
pray'd; 

CLIV. 

Rut  thou,  of  temples  old,  or  altars  new, 
Standest  alone — with  nothing  like  to  thee — 
Worthiest  of  God,  the  holy  and  the  true. 
Since  Zion's  desolation,  when  that  He 
Forsook  his  former  city,  what  could  be, 

1  The  castle  of  St.  Angelo.  See  "Historical  Illustrations." 
a  This  and  the  six  next  stanzas  have  a  reference  to  the  church 
of  St.  Peter's.  For  a  measurement  of  the  comparative  length  of 
this  basilica  and  the  other  great  churches  of  Europe,  see  the 
pavement  of  St.  Peter's,  and  the  Classical  Tour  through  Italy, 
vol.  ii.  p.  125,  et  seq.  ch.  iv. 


238  CH1LDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

Of  earthly  structures,  in  his  honour  piled, 
Of  a  sublimer  aspect?     Majesty, 
Power,  Glory,  Strength,  and  Beauty,  all  are  aisled 
In  this  eternal  ark  of  worship  undefiled. 

CLV. 

Enter:  its  grandeur  overwhelms  thee  not;1 
And  why?  it  is  not  lessen'd  ;  but  thy  mind, 
Expanded  by  the  genius  of  the  spot, 
Has  grown  colossal,  and  can  only  find 
A  fit  abode  wherein  appear  enshrined 
Thy  hopes  of  immortality  ;  and  thou 
Shalt  one  day,  if  found  worthy,  so  defined, 
See  thy  God  face  to  face,  as  thou  dost  now 
His  Holy  of  Holies,  nor  be  blasted  by  his  brow. 

1  ["I  remember  very  well,"  says  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  "my 
own  disappointment  when  I  first  visited  the  Vatican ;  but  on  con- 
fessing my  feelings  to  a  brother  student,  of  whose  ingenuousness  I 
had  a  high  opinion,  he  acknowledged  that  the  works  of  Raphael  had 
the  same  effect  on  him,  or  rather  that  they  did  not  produce  the  effect 
which  he  expected.  This  was  a  great  relief  to  my  mind ;  and,  on 
inquiring  further  of  other  students,  I  found  that  those  persons  only 
who,  from  natural  imbecility,  appeared  to  be  incapable  of  relishing 
those  divine  performances,  made  pretensions  to  instantaneous 
raptures  on  first  behold  ing  them. — My  not  relishing  them  as  I  was 
conscious  I  ought  to  have  done,  was  one  of  the  most  humiliating 
circumstances  that  ever  happened  to  me;  I  found  myself  in  the 
midst  of  works  executed  upon  principles  with  which  I  was  unac- 
quainted :  I  felt  my  ignorance,  and  stood  abashed.  All  the  undi- 
gested notions  of  painting  wiiieklhad  brought  with  me  from  Eng- 
land, where  the  art  was  in  the  lowest  state  it  had  ever  been  in, 
were  to  be  totally  done  away  and  eradicated  from  my  mind.  It 
was  necessary,  as  it  is  expressed  on  a  very  solemn  occasion,  that  I 
should  become  as  a  little  child.  Notwithstanding  my  disappoint- 
ment, I  proceeded  to  copy  some  of  those  excellent  works.  I 
viewed  them  again  and  again;  I  even  affected  to  feel  their  merit 
and  admire  them  more  than  I  really  did.  In  a  short  time,  a  new 
taste  and  a  new  perception  began  to  dawn  upon  me,  and  I  was 
convinced  that  I  had  originally  formed  a  false  opinion  of  the  per- 
fection of  the  art,  and  that  this  great  painter  was  well  entitled  to 
the  high  rank  which  he  holds  in  the  admiration  of  the  world."] 


CANTO  IV.  P  I  L  G  R  I M  A  G  E.  S39 

CLVI. 

Thou  movest — but  increasing  with  the  advance, 
Like  climbing  some  great  Alp,  which  still  dotb 

rise, 

Deceived  by  its  gigantic  elegance  ; 
Vastness  which  grows — but  grows  to  harmonize- 
All  musical  in  its  immensities; 
Rich    marbles — richer    painting — shrines    when. 

flame 

The  lamps  of  gold — and  haughty  dome  which  vies 
In  air  with  earth's  chief  structures,  though  their 

frame 
Sits  on  the  firm-set  ground — and  this  the  clouds  must 

claim. 

CLVII. 

Thou  seest  not  all;  but  piecemeal  thou  must  break, 
To  separate  contemplation,  the  great  whole ; 
And  as  the  ocean  many  bays  will  make, 
That  ask  the  eye — so  here  condense  thy  soul 
\  To  more  immediate  objects,  and  control 
I   Thy  thoughts  until  thy  mind  hath  got  by  heart 
\  Its  eloquent  proportions,  and  unroll 
In  mighty  graduations,  part  by  part, 

glory  which  at  once  upon  thee  did  not  dart, 

CLVIII. 

Not  by  its  fault — but  thine :  Our  outward  sense 
Is  but  of  gradual  grasp — and  as  it  is 
That  what  we  have  of  feeling  most  intense 
Outstrips  our  faint  expression ;  even  so  this 
Outshining  and  o'erwhelming  edifice 
Fools  our  fond  gaze,  and,  greatest  of  the  great, 
Defies  at  first  our  nature's  littleness, 
Till,  growing  with  its  growth,  we  thus  dilate 
Oar  spirits  to  the  size  of  that  they  contemplate. 


940  CHILDE   HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV. 

CLIX. 

Then  pause,  and  be  enlighten'd ;  there  is  more 
In  such  a  survey  than  the  sating  gaze 
Of  wonder  pleased,  or  awe  which  would  adore 
The  worship  of  the  place,  or  the  mere  praise 
Of  art  and  its  great  masters,  who  could  raise 
What  former  time,  nor  skill,  nor  thought  could 

plan  ; 

The  fountain  of  sublimity  displays 
Its  depth,  and  thence   may  draw  the  mind  of 

man 
Its  golden  sands,  and  learn  what  great  conceptions 

can. 

CLX. 

Or,  turning  to  the  Vatican,  go  see 
Laocoon's  torture  dignifying  pain — 
A  father's  love  and  mortal's  agony 
With  an  immortal's  patience  blending: — Vain 
The  struggle  ;  vain,  against  the  coiling  strain 
And  gripe,  and  deepening  of  the  dragon's  grasp, 
The  old  manrs  clench;  the  long  envenom'd  chain 
Rivets  the  living  links, — the  enormous  asp 
Enforces  pang  on  pang,  and  stifles  gasp  on  gasp. 

CLXI. 

Or  view  the  lord  of  the  unerring  bow, 
The  god  of  life,  and  poesy,  and  light — 
The  sun  in  human  limbs  array'd,  and  brow 
All  radiant  from  his  triumph  in  the  fight ; 
The  shaft  hath  just  been  shot — the  arrow  bright 
With  an  immortal's  vengeance  ;  in  his  eye 
And  nostril  beautiful  disdain,  and  might 
And  majesty,  flash  their  full  lightnings  by, 
Developing  in  that  one  glance  the  deity. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  311 


CLXII. 

But  in  his  delicate  form — a  dream  of  Love, 
Shaped  by  some  solitary  nymph,  whose  breast 
Long'd  for  a  deathless  lover  from  above, 
And  madden'd  in  that  vision — are  exprest 
All  that  ideal  beauty  ever  blest 
The  mind  with  in  its  most  unearthly  mood, 
When  eacli  conception  was  a  heavenly  guest 
A  ray  of  immortality — and  stood, 
Starlike,  around,  until  they  gather'd  to  a  god ! 

CLXIII. 

And  if  it  be  Prometheus  stole  from  Heaven 
The  fire  which  we  endure,  it  was  repaid    • 
By  him  to  whom  the  energy  was  given 
Which  this  poetic  marble  hath  array'd 
With  an  eternal  glory — which,  if  made 
By  human  hands,  is  not  of  human  thought ; 
And  Time  himself  hath  hallow'd  it,  nor  laid 
One  ringlet  in  the  dust — nor  hath  it  caught 
A  tinge  of  years,  but  breathes  the  flame  with  which 
'twas  wrought. 

CLXIV. 

But  where  is  he,  the  Pilgrim  of  my  song, 
The  being  who  upheld  it  through  the  past  ? 
Methinks  he  cometh  late  and  tarries  long. 
He  is  no  more — these  bieathings  are  his  last ; 
His  wanderings  done,  his  visions  ebbing  fast, 
And  he  himself  as  nothing  : — if  he  was 
Aught  but  a  fantasy,  and  could  be  class'd 
With    forms    which    live    and    suffer — let    that 

pass — 

His  shadow  Aides  away  into  Destruction's  mass, 
21 


242  CH1LDE    HAROLD'S  CANTO  IV. 

CLXV. 

Which  gathers  shadow,  substance,  life,  and  all 
That  we  inherit  in  its  mortal  shroud, 
And  spreads  the  dim  and  universal  pall 
Through  which  all  things  grow  phantoms ;  and  tho 

cloud 

Between  us  sinks  and  all  which  ever  glovv'd, 
Till  Glory's  self  is  twilight,  and  displays 
A  melancholy  halo  scarce  allow'd 
To  hover  on  the  verge  of  darkness ;  rays 
Sadder  than  saddest    night,  for  they  distract    the 
gaze, 

CLXVI. 

And  send  us  prying  into  the  abyss, 
To  gather  what  we  shall  be  when  the  frame 
Shall  be  resolved  to  something  less  than  this 
Its  wretched  essence ;  and  to  dream  of  fame, 
And  wipe  the  dust  from  off  the  idle  name 
We  never  more  shall  hear, — but  never  more, 
Oh,  happier  thought !  can  we  be  made  the  same  : 
It  is  enough  in  sooth  that  once  we  bore 
These  fardels  of  the  heart — the  heart  whose  sweat 
was  gore. 

CLXVII. 

Hark !  forth  from  the  abyss  a  voice  proceeds, 
A  long  low  distant  murmur  of  dread  sound, 
Such  as  arises  when  a  nation  bleeds 
With  some  deep  and  immedicable  wound ; 
Through  storm  and  darkness  yawns  the  rending 

ground, 

The  gulf  is  thick  with  phantoms,  but  the  chief 
Seems  royal  still,  though  with  her  head  discrown'd, 
And  pale,  but  lovely,  with  maternal  grief 
She  clasps  a  babe,  to  whom  her  breast  yields  no  relief. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  243 

CLXVIII. 

Scion  of  chiefs  and  monarchs,  where  art  thou? 
Fond  hope  of  many  nations,  art  thou  dead? 
Could  not  thy  grave  forget  thee,  and  lay  low 
Some  less  majestic,  less  beloved  head  ? 
In  the  sad  midnight,  while  thy  heart  still  bled, 
The  mother  of  a  moment,  o'er  thy  boy, 
Death  hush'd  that  pang  for  ever  :  with  thee  fled 
The  present  happiness  and  promised  joy 
Which  fill'd  the  imperial  isles  so  full  it  seem'd  to 
cloy. 

CLXIX. 

Peasants  bring  forth  in  safety. — Can  it  be, 

Oh  thou  that  wert  so  happy,  so  adored ! 

Those  who  weep  not  for  kings  shall  weep  for 

thee, 
And  Freedom's  heart,  grown  heavy,    cease    to 

hoard 

Her  many  griefs  for  ONE  ;  for  she  had  pour'd 
Her  orison  for  thee,  and  o'er  thy  head 
Beheld  her  Iris. — Thou,  too,  lonely  lord, 
And  desolate  consort — vainly  wert  thou  wed  ! 
The  husband  of  a  year  !  the  father  of  the  dead  ! 

CLXX. 

Of  sackcloth  was  thy  wedding  garment  made; 
Thy  bridal's  fruit  is  ashes  :  in  the  dust 
The  fair-hair'd  Daughter  of  the  Isles  is  laid, 
The  love  of  millions  !     How  we  did  intrust 
Futurity  to  her  !  and,  though  it  must 
Darken  above  our  bones,  yet  fondly  deem'd 
Our  children  should  obey  her  child,  and  bless'd 
Her  and  her  hoped-for  seed,  whose  promise  seem'd 
Like  stars  to  shepherds'  eyes: — 'twas  ^ut  a  meteor 
beam'd. 


U41  CHJLDE    H.ARO.MD'S         CANTO  IV 

CLXXI;  » 

Woe  unto  us,  not  her;1  for  she  sleeps  well : 
The  fickle  reek  of  popular  breath,  the  tongue 
Of  hollow  counsel,  the  false  oracle, 
Which  from  the  birth  of  monarchy  hath  rung 
Its  knell  in  princely  ears,  till  the  o'erstung 
Nations  have  arm'd  in  madness,  the  strange  fate2 
Which  tumbles  mightiest    sovereigns,   and   hath 

flung 

Against  their  blind  omnipotence  a  weight 
Within  the   opposing  scale,  which  crushes  soon  or 

late, — 

CLXXII. 

These  might  have  been  her  destiny  ;  but  no, 
Our  hearts  deny  it :  and  so  young,  so  fair, 
Good  without  effort,  great  without  a  foe  : 
But  now  a  bride  and  mother — and  now  there  ! 
How  many  ties  did  that  stern  moment  tear  ! 
From  thy  sire's  to  his  humblest  subject's  breast 
Is  link'd  the  electric  chain  of  that  despair, 
Whose  shock  was  as  an  earthquake's,  and  opprest 
The  land  which  loved  thee  so  that  none  could  love 
thee  best. 

1  ["  The  death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte  has  been  a  shock  even 
here,  (Venice,)  and  must  have  been  an  earthquake  at  home.  The 
fate  of  this  poor  girl  is  melancholy  in  every  respect;  dying  at 
twenty  or  so,  in  childbed — of  a  boy  too,  a  present  princess  and 
future  queen,  and  just  as  she  began  to  be  happy,  and  to  enjoy 
herself,  and  the  hopes  which  she  inspired.  I  feel  sorry  in  every 
respect." — Byron  Letters.] 

9  Mary  died  on  the  scaffold;  Elizabeth  of  a  broken  heart; 
Charles  "V.  a  hermit;  Louis  XIV.  a  bankrupt  in  means  and 
^lory;  Cromwell  of  anxiety;  and,  "the  greatest  is  behind,"  Na- 
poleon lives  a  prisoner.  To  these  sovereigns  a  long  but  super- 
fluous list  might  be  added  of  names  equally  illustrious  and 
unhappy. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  245 

CLXXIII. 

Lo,  Nemi  !l  navell'd  in  the  woody  hills 
So  far,  that  the  uprooting  wind  which  tears 
The  oak  from  his  foundation,  and  which  spills 
The  ocean  o'er  its  boundary,  and  bears 
Its  form  against  the  skies,  reluctant  spares 
The  oval  mirror  of  thy  glassy  lake  ; 
And,  calm  as  cherish'd  hate,  its  surface  wears 
A  deep  cold  settled  aspect  naught  can  shake, 
All    coil'd    into    itself  and    round,    as    sleeps  the 
snake. 


CLXXIV. 

And  near  Albano'g  scarce  divided  waves 
Shine  from  a  sister  valley  ; — and  afar 
The  Tiber  winds,  and  the  broad  ocean  laves 
The  Latian  coast  where  sprung  the  Epic  war, 
"  Arms  and  the  Man,"  whose  reascending  star 
Rose  o'er  an  empire  : — but  beneath  thy  right 
Tally  reposed  from  Rome  ; — and  where  yon  bar 
Of  girdling  mountains  intercepts  the  sight, 
The  Sabine  farm  was  till'd,  the  weary  bard's  de- 
light.3 


1  The  village  of  Nemi  was  near  the  Arician  retreat  of  Egeria, 
and,  from  the  shades  which  embosomed  the  temple  of  Diana,  has 
preserved  to  this  day  its  distinctive  appellation  of  The  Grove. 
Nemi  is  but  an  evening's  ride  from  the  comfortable  inn  of 
Albano. 

•  The  whole  declivity  of  the  Alban  hill  is  of  unrivalled  beauty, 
and  from  the  convent  on  the  highest  point,  which  has  succeeded 
to  the  temple  of  the  Latian  Jupiter,  the  prospect  embraces  all  the 
objects  alluded  to  in  this  stanza;  the  Mediterranean;  the  wholo 
scene  of  the  latter  half  of  the  ^Eneid,  and  the  coast  from  beyond 
the  mouth  of  the  Tiber  to  the  headland  of  Circaeum  and  the  Cape 
of  Terracina. — See  Appendix,  "Historical  Notes,"  No.  XXXT 
3** 


246  C  HI  LDE   HAROLD'S         CANTO  IV. 

CLXXV. 

But  I  forget. — My  Pilgrim's  shrine  is  won, 
And  he  and  I  must  part, — so  let  it  be, — 
His  task  and  mine  alike  are  nearly  done ; 
Yet  once  more  let  us  look  upon  the  sea ; 
The  midland  ocean  breaks  on  him  and  me, 
And  from  the  Alban  Mount  we  now  behold 
Our  friend  of  youth,  that  ocean,  which  when  we 
Beheld  it  last  by  Calpe's  rock  unfold 
Those  waves,  we  follow'd  on  till  the  dark  Euxino 
roll'd 

CLXXVI. 

Upon  the  blue  Symplegades :  long  years — 
Long,  though  not  very  many,  since  have  done 
Their   work  on  both  ;  some  suffering  and  some 

tears 

Have  left  us  nearly  where  we  had  begun  : 
Yet  not  in  vain  our  mortal  race  hath  run, 
We  have  had  our  reward — and  it  is  here  ; 
That  we  can  yet  feel  gladden'd  by  the  sun, 
And  reap  from  earth,  sea,  joy  almost  as  dear 
As  if  there  were  no  man  to  trouble  what  is  clear. 

CLXXVII. 

Oh  !  that  the  desert  were  my  dwelling-place, 
With  one  fair  spirit  for  my  minister, 
That  I  might  all  forget  the  human  race, 
And,  hating  no  one,  love  but  only  her  ! 
Ye  elements ! — in  whose  ennobling  stir 
I  feel  myself  exalted — Can  ye  not 
Accord  me  such  a  being  ?     Do  I  err 
In  deeming  such  inhabit  many  a  spot  ? 
Though  with  them  to  converse  can  rarely  be  OUT 
lot. 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  247 

CLXXVIII. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 
There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 
There  is  society,  where  none  intrudes, 
By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar  : 
I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  nature  more, 
From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 
From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 
To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 


CLXXIX. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark-blue  ocean — roll ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore  ; — upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own, 
When,  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without    a   grave,  unknell'd,  uncoffin'd,  and  un- 
known. 

CLXXX. 

His  steps  are  not  upon  thy  paths, — thy  fields 

Are  not  a  spoil  for  him, — thou  dost  arise 

And  shake  him  from  thee  ;  the  vile  strength  he 

wields 

For  earth's  destruction  thou  dost  all  despise, 
Spurning  him  from  thy  bosom  to  the  skies, 
And  send'st  him,  shivering  in  thy  playful  spray 
And  howling,  to  his  gods,  where  haply  lies 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  port  or  bay, 
And  dashest  him  again  to  earth: — there  let  him  lay. 


248  CHILDE    HAROLD'S          CANTO  IV 

CLXXXI. 

The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 
And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals, 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war ; 
These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 
They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

CLXXXII. 
Thy    shores  are    empires,    changed  in  all  save 

thee — 
Assyria,    Greece,    Rome,    Carthage,    what    are 

they?1 

Thy  waters  wasted  them  while  they  were  free, 
And  many  a  tyrant  since  ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage ;  their  decay 
Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts : — not  so  thou, 
Unchangeable  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play — 
Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow — 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 

1  [When  Lord  Byron  wrote  this  stanza,  he  had,  no  doubt,  the 
following  passage  in  Boswell's  Johnson  floating  on  his  mind : — 
"  Dining  one  day  with  General  Paoli,  and  talking  of  his  projected 
journey  to  Italy, — '  A  man,'  said  Johnson,  «  who  has  not  been  in 
Italy,  is  always  conscious  of  an  inferiority,  from  his  not  having 
seen  what  it  is  expected  a  man  should  see.  The  grand  object  of  all 
travelling  is  to  see  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  On  those 
shores  were  the  four  great  empires  of  the  world  ;  the  Assyrian, 
the  Persian,  the  Grecian,  and  the  Roman.  All  our  religion, 
almost  all  our  law,  almost  all  our  arts,  almost  all  that  sets  us 
above  savages,  has  come  to  us  from  the  shores  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean.' The  general  observed,  that '  The  Mediterranean'  would 
he  a  noble  subject  for  a  poem." — Lift  of  Johnson,  vol.  v.  p.  154, 
ed.  183.-O 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  849 

CLXXXIII. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests;  in  all  time, 
Calm  or  convulsed — in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark-heaving ;  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime — 
The  image  of  Eternity — the  throne 
Of  the  Invisible;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made  ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee  ;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

CLXXXIV. 

And  I  have  loved  thee,  ocean  I1  and  my  joy 
Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward :  from  a  boy 
I  wanton'd  with  thy  breakers — they  to  me 
Were  a  delight ;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  terror — 'twas  a  pleasing  fear, 
For  I  was  as  it  were  a  child  of  thee, 
And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near, 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane — as  I  do  here. 


1  ["This  passagfe  would,  perhaps,  be  read  without  emotion,  if 
we  did  not  know  that  Lord  Byron  was  here  describing  his  actual 
feelings  and  habits,  and  that  this  was  an  unaffected  picture  of  his 
propensities  and  amusements  even  from  childhood, — when  he 
listened  to  the  roar,  and  watched  the  bursts  of  the  northern  ocean 
on  the  tempestuous  shores  of  Aberdee-nshireT It  was  a  fearful 
and  violent  change atthe  age  often  yearstoDe  separated  from  this 
congenial  solitude, — this  independence  so  suited  to  his  haughty 
and  contemplative  spirit, — this  rude  grandeur  of  nature, — and 
thrown  among  the  mere  worldly-minded  and  selfish  ferocity,  the 
affected  polish  and  repelling  coxcombry,  of  a  great  public  school. 
How  many  thousand  times  did  the  moody,  sullen,  and  indignant 
boy  wish  himself  back  to  the  keen  air  and  boisterous  billows  that 
broke  lonely  upon  the  simple  and  soul-invigorating  haunts  of  his 
childhood  !  How  did  he  prefer  some  ghost-story ;  some  tale  of 
second-sight ;  some  relation  of  Robin  Hood's  feats;  some  Karrow.  ~ 


250'  CHILDE    HAROLD'S  CANTO  IV. 

CLXXXV. 

My  task  is  done1 — my  song  hath  ceased — my  theme 
Has  died  into  an  echo  ;  it  is  fit 
The  spell  should  break  of  this  protracted  dream. 
The  torch  shall  be  extinguish'^  which  hath  lit 
My  midnight  lamp — and  what  is  writ,  is  writ : — 

ing  narrative  of  buccaneer-exploits,  to  all  of  Horace,  and  Virgil, 
and  Homer,  that  was  dinned  into  his  repulsive  spirit!  To  the 
shock  of  this  change  is,  I  suspe'ct,  to  be  traced  much  oftheeccen- 
tricity  of  Lord  Byron's  future  life.  This  fourth  Canto  is  the 
fruit  of  a  mind  which  had  stored  itself  with  great  care  and  toil, 
and  had  digested  with  profound  reflection  and  intense  vigour  what 
it  had  learned  :  the  sentiments  are  net  such  as  lie  on  the  surface, 
but  could  only  be  awakened  by  long  meditation.  Whoever  reads 
it,  and  is  not  impressed  with  the  many  grand  virtues  as  well  as 
gigantic  powers  of  the  mind  that  wrote  it,  seems  to  me  to  afford 
a  proof  both  of  insensibility  of  heart,  and  great  stupidity  of  intel- 
lect."— SIR  E.  BRYDGES.] 

1  ["  It  was  a  thought  worthy  of  the  great  spirit  of  Byron,  after 
exhibiting  to  us  his  Pilgrim  amidst  all  the  most  striking  scenes  of 
earthly  grandeur  and  earthly  decay, — after  teaching  us,  like  him, 
to  sicken  over  the  mutability,  and  vanity,  and  emptiness  of  human 
U'reatnoss,  to  conduct  him  and  us  at  last  to  the  borders  of  "  the 
Great  Deep."  It  is  there  that  we  may  perceive  an  image,  of  the 
awful  and  unchangeable  abyss  of  eternity,  into  whose  bosom  so 
much  1ms  sunk,  and  all  shall  one  day  sink, — ofMhat  i-ternity 
wherein  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  man,  and  the  melancholy  <>f 
groat,  and  the  fretting  of  little  minds,  shall  be  at  rest  for  ever. 
No  one,  but  a  true  poet  of  man  and  of  nature,  would  have  dared  to 
frame  such  a  termination  for  such  a  Pilgrimage.  The  image  of 
the  wanderer  may  well  be  associated,  for  a  time,  with  the  rock  of 
Calpe,  the  shattered  temples  of  Athens,  or  the  gigantic  fragments 
of  Rome ;  but  when  we  wish  to  think  of  this  dark  personification 
as  of  a  thing  which  is,  where  can  we  so  well  imagine  him  to  have 
his  daily  haunt  as  by  the  roaring  of  the  waves  ?  It  was  thus  that 
Homer  represented  Achilles  in  his  moments  of  ungovernable  and 
inconsolable  grief  for  the  loss  of  Patroclus.  It  was  thus  he  chose 
to  depict  the  paternal  despair  of  Chriseus — 

Bfj  3'  dxeitiv  icapa  §Iva  T;o\v$\oia$Qio  Sa^daartf." 

— WILSON.] 


CANTO  IV.  PILGRIMAGE.  251 

Would  it  were  worthier  !  but  I  am  not  now       < 
That  which  I  have  been — and  my  visions  flit  J 
Less  palpably  before  me — and  the  glow 
Which  in  my  spirit  dwelt  is  fluttering,  faint,  and  low. 

CLXXXVI. 

Farewell !  a  word  that  must  be,  and  hath  been — 
A  sound  which  makes  us  linger  ; — yet — farewell 
Ye  !  who  have  traced  the  Pilgrim  to  the  scene 
Which  is  his  last,  if  in  your  memories  dwell 
A  thought  which  once  was  his,  if  on  ye  swell 
A  single  recollection,  not  in  vain 
He  wore  his  sandal-shoon,  and  scallop-shell ; 
Farewell !  with  him  alone  may  rest  the  pain, 
If  such  there  were — with  you,  the  moral  of  his  strain. 


Jl 


APPENDIX. 


ci 


APPENDIX. 


NOTES  TO  CANTO  II. 

Note  [A]. — REMOVAL  OF  THE  WORKS  OF  ART  FROM  ATHENS. 
See  p.  75. 

"  To  rive  what  Goth,  and  Turk,  and  Time  hath  spared" 

Stanza  xii.  line  2. 

AT  this  moment,  (January  3, 1810,)  besides  what  has  been  al- 
ready deposited  in  London,  a  Hydriot  vessel  is  in  the  Pyraeus 
to  receive  every  portable  relic.  Thus,  as  I  heard  a  young  Greek 
observe,  in  common  with  many  of  his  countrymen — for,  lost  as 
they  are,  they  yet  feel  on  this  occasion — thus  may  Lord  Elgin 
boast  of  having  ruined  Athens.  An  Italian  painter  of  the  first 
eminence,  named  Lusieri,  is  the  agent  of  devastation ;  and  like 
the  Greek  finder  of  Verres  in  Sicily,  who  followed  the  same  pro- 
fession, he  has  proved  the  able  instrument  of  plunder.  Between 
this  artist  and  the  French  Consul  Fauvel,  who  wishes  to  rescue 
the  remains  for  his  own  government,  there  is  now  a  violent  dis- 
pute concerning  a  car  employed  in  their  conveyance,  the  wheel 
of  which — I  wish  they  were  both  broken  upon  it!— has  been 
locked  up  by  the  consul,  and  Lusieri  has  laid  his  complaint  be- 
fore the  waywode.  Lord  Elgin  has  been  extremely  happy  in  his 
choice  of  Signor  Lusieri.  During  a  residence  of  ten  years  in 
Athens,  he  never  had  the  curiosity  to  proceed  as  far  as  Sunium, 
(now  Cape  Colonna,)  till  he  accompanied  us  in  our  second  ex 
cursion.  However,  his  works,  as  far  as  they  go,  are  most  beau- 
tiful: but  they  are  almost  all  -'nfinished.  While  he  and  his 
patrons  confine  themselves  to  tasting  medals,  appreciating 
cameos,  sketching  columns,  and  cheapening  gems,  their  little 
absurdities  are  as  harmless  as  insect  or  fox-hunting,  maiden 
speechifying,  barouche-driving,  or  any  such  pastime;  but  when 
they  carry  away  three  or  four  shiploads  of  the  most  valuable  and 

255 


25G  A  P  P  E  N  D  I X. 

massy  relics  that  time  and  barbarism  have  left  to  the  most  in- 
jured and  most  celebrated  of  cities ;  when  they  destroy,  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  tear  down,  those  works  which  have  been  the  ad- 
miration of  ages,  I  know  no  motive  which  can  excuse,  no  name 
which  can  designate,  the  perpetrators  of  this  dastardly  devasta- 
tion. It  was  not  the  least  of  the  crimes  laid  to  the  charge  of 
Verres,  that  he  had  plundered  Sicily,  in  the  manner  since  imi- 
tated at  Athens.  The  most  unblushing  impudence  could  hardly 
go  farther  than  to  affix  the  name  of  its  plunderer  to  the  walls  of 
the  Acropolis ;  while  the  wanton  and  useless  defacement  of  the 
whole  range  of  the  basso-relievos,  in  one  compartment  of  the 
temple,  will  never  permit  that  name  to  be  pronounced  by  an  ob- 
server without  execration. 

On  this  occasion  I  speak  impartially :  I  am  not  a  collector  or 
admirer  of  collections,  consequently  no  rival ;  but  I  have  some 
early  prepossession  in  favour  of  Greece,  and  do  not  think  the 
honour  of  England  advanced  by  plunder,  whether  of  India  or 
Attica. 

Another  noble  lord  has  done  better,  because  he  has  done  less: 
but  some  others,  more  or  less  noble,  yet  "  all  honourable  men," 
have  done  best,  because,  after  a  deal  of  excavation  and  execra- 
tion, bribery  to  the  waywode,  mining  and  countermining,  they 
have  done  nothing  at  all.  We  had  such  ink-shed,  and  wine- 
shed,  which  almost  ended  in  bloodshed!  Lord  E.'s  "prig" — 
see  Jonathan  Wild  for  the  definition  of  "  priggism" — quarrelled 
with  another,  Gropius*  by  name,  (a  very  good  name  too  for  his 
business,)  and  muttered  something  about  satisfaction,  in  a  verbal 
answer  to  a  note  of  the  poor  Prussian  :  this  was  stated  at  table 
to  Gropius,  who  laughed,  but  could  eat  no  dinner  afterwards. 
The  rivals  were  not  reconciled  when  I  left  Greece.  I  have 
reason  to  remember  their  squabble,  for  they  wanted  to  make  me 
their  arbitrator. 


*  This  Sr.  Gropius  was  employed  by  a  noble  lord  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
sketching,  in  which  he  excels;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  he  has,  through  the 
abused  sanction  of  that  most  respectable  name,  been  treading  at  humble  dis- 
tance in  the  steps  of  Sr.  Lusieri. — A  shipful  of  his  trophies  was  detained,  and 
I  believe  confiscated,  at  Constantinople,  in  1810.  I  am  most  happy  to  be  now 
enabled  to  state,  that  "this  was  not  in  his  bond  ;"  that  he  was  employed  solely 
as  a  p.-uiiter,  and  that  his  noble  patron  disavows  all  connection  with  him,  ex- 
cept as  an  artist.  If  the  error  in  the  first  and  second  edition  of  this  poem  has 
given  the  noble  lord  a  moment's  pain,  I  am  very  sorry  for  it :  Sr.  Gropius  has 
assumed  for  years  the  name  of  his  agent;  and  though  I  cannot  much  condemn 
myself  for  sharing  in  the  mistake  of  so  many,  I  am  happy  in  being  one  of  the 
first  to  be  undeceived.  Indeed,  I  have  as  much  pleasure  in  contradicting  thu 
as  I  felt  regret  in  stating  it. — Jfote  to  third  edition. 


APPENDIX.  257 

Note  [B]. — ALBANIA  AND  THE  ALBANIANS.     See  p.  85. 

"  Land  of  Albania!  let  me  bend  mine  eyes 
On  ikee,  thou  rugged  nurse  of  savage  men!" 

Stanza  xxxvii.  lines  5  and  6. 

Albania  comprises  part  of  Macedonia,  Illyria,  Chaonia,  and 
Epirus.  Iskander  is  the  Turkish  word  for  Alexander;  and  the 
celebrated  Scanderbeg  (Lord  Alexander)  is  alluded  to  in  the  third 
and  fourth  lines  of  the  thirty-eighth  stanza.  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  am  correct  in  making  Scanderbeg  the  countryman  of 
Alexander,  who  was  born  at  Pella  in  Macedon,  but  Mr.  Gibbon 
terms  him  so,  and  adds  Pyrrhus  to  the  list,  in  speaking  of  his 
exploits. 

Of  Albania,  Gibbon  remarks,  that  a  country  "  within  sight  of 
Italy  is  less  known  than  the  interior  of  America."  Circum- 
stances, of  little  consequence  to  mention,  led  Mr.  Hobhouse  and 
myself  into  that  country  before  we  visited  any  other  part  of  the 
Ottoman  dominions;  and  with  the  exception  of  Major  Leake, 
then  officially  resident  at  Joannina,  no  other  Englishmen  have 
ever  advanced  beyond  the  capital  into  the  interior,  as  that  gen- 
tleman very  lately  assured  me.  AH  Pasha  was  at  that  time 
(October,  1809)  carrying  on  war  against  Ibrahim  Pasha,  whom 
he  had  driven  to  Berat,  a  strong  fortress,  which  he  was  then  be- 
sieging :  on  our  arrival  at  Joannina  we  were  invited  to  Tepaleni, 
his  highness's  birth-place,  and  favourite  serai,  only  one  day's 
distance  from  Berat ;  at  this  juncture  the  vizier  had  made  it  his 
head-quarters.  After  some  stay  in  the  capital,  we  accordingly 
followed ;  but  though  furnished  with  every  accommodation,  and 
escorted  by  one  of  the  vizier's  secretaries,  we  were  nine  days 
(on  account  of  the  rains)  in  accomplishing  a  journey  which,  on 
our  return,  barely  occupied  four.  On  our  route  we  passed  two 
cities,  Argyrocastro  and  Libochabo,  apparently  little  inferior  to 
Yanina  in  size ;  and  no  pencil  or  pen  can  ever  do  justice  to  the 
scenery  in  the  vicinity  of  Zitza  and  Delvinachi,  the  frontier  vil- 
lage of  Epirus  and  Albania  Proper. 

On  Albania  and  its  inhabitants  I  am  unwilling  to  descant,  be- 
cause this  will  be  done  so  much  better  by  my  fellow-traveller,  in 
a  work  which  may  probably  precede  this  in  publication,  that  I 
as  little  wish  to  follow  as  I  would  to  anticipate  him.  But  some 
few  observations  are  necessary  to  the  text.  The  Arnaouts,  or 
Albanese,  struck  me  forcibly  by  their  resemblance  to  the  High- 
landers of  Scotland,  in  dress,  figure,  and  manner  of  living. 
Their  very  mountains  seemed  Caledonian,  with  a  kinder  climate. 

22* 


258  APPENDIX. 

The  kilt,  though  \rhite;  the  spare,  active  form;  their  dialect, 
Celtic  in  its  sound,  and  their  hardy  habits,  all  carried  me  back 
to  Morven.  No  nation  are  so  detested  and  dreaded  by  their 
neighbours  as  the  Albanese  ;  the  Greeks  hardly  regard  them  as 
Christians,  or  the  Turks  as  Moslems;  and  in  fact  they  are  a 
mixture  of  both,  and  sometimes  neither.  Their  habits  are  pre- 
datory— all  are  armed  ;  and  the  red-shawled  Arnaouts,  the  Mon- 
tenegrins, Chimariots,  and  Gegdes,  are  treacherous  ;  the  others 
differ  somewhat  in  garb,  and  essentially  in  character.  As  far  as 
my  own  experience  goes,  I  can  speak  favourably.  I  was  at- 
tended by  two,  an  Infidel  and  a  Mussulman,  to  Constantinople 
and  every  other  part  of  Turkey  which  came  within  my  observa- 
tion ;  and  more  faithful  in  peril,  or  indefatigable  in  service,  are 
rarely  to  be  found.  The  Infidel  was  named  Basilius,  the  Mos- 
lem, Dervish  Tahiri ;  the  former  a  man  of  middle  age,  and  the 
latter  about  my  own.  Basili  was  strictly  charged  by  Ali  Pasha 
in  person  to  attend  us ;  and  Dervish  was  one  of  fifty  who  ac- 
companied us  through  the  forests  of  Acarnania  to  the  banks  of 
Achelous,  and  onward  to  Messalonghi  in  j^Etolia.  There  I  icok 
him  into  my  own  service,  and  never  had  occasion  to  repent  it  till 
the  moment  of  my  departure. 

When,  in  1810,  after  the  departure  of  my  friend  Mr.  Hob- 
house  for  England,  I  was  seized  with  a  severe  fever  in  the  Morea, 
these  men  saved  my  life  by  frightening  away  my  physician, 
whose  throat  they  threatened  to  cut  if  I  was  not  cured  within  a 
given  time.  To  this  consolatory  assurance  of  posthumous  retri- 
bution, and  a  resolute  refusal  of  Dr.  Romanelli's  prescriptions, 
I  attributed  my  recovery.  I  had  left  my  last  remaining  English 
servant  at  Athens ;  my  dragoman  was  as  ill  as  myself,  and  my 
poor  Arnaouts  nursed  me  with  an  attention  which  would  have 
done  honour  to  civilization.  They  had  a  variety  of  adventures, 
for  the  Moslem,  Dervish,  being  a  remarkably  handsome  man, 
was  always  squabbling  with  the  husbands  of  Athens ;  insomuch 
that  four  of  the  principal  Turks  paid  me  a  visit  of  remonstrance 
at  the  convent,  on  the  subject  of  his  having  taken  a  woman  from 
the  bath — whom  he  had  lawfully  bought,  however — a  thing 
quite  contrary  to  etiquette.  Basili  also  was  extremely  gallant 
amongst  his  own  persuasion,  and  had  the  greatest  veneration  for 
the  church,  mixed  with  the  highest  contempt  of  churchmen, 
whom  he  cuffed  upon  occasion  in  a  most  heterodox  manner. 
Yet  he  never  passed  a  church  without  crossing  himself;  and  I 
lemember  the  risk  he  ran  in  entering  St.  Sophia,  in  Stambol,  be 
cause  it  had  once  been  a  place  of  his  worship.  On  remonstra*- 


APPENDIX.  259 

ing  with  him  on  his  inconsistent  proceedings,  he  invariably  an- 
swered, "  Our  church  is  holy,  our  priests  are  thieves ;"  and  then 
he  crossed  himself  as  usual,  and  boxed  the  ears  of  the  first 
"  papas"  who  refused  to  assist  in  any  required  operation,  as  was 
always  found  to  be  necessary  where  a  priest  had  any  influence 
with  the  Cogia  Bashi  of  his  village.  Indeed,  a  more  abandoned 
race  of  miscreants  cannot  exist  than  the  lower  orders  of  the 
Greek  clergy. 

When  preparations  were  made  for  my  return,  my  Albanians 
were  summoned  to  receive  their  pay.  Basili  took  his  with  an 
awkward  show  of  regret  at  my  intended  departure,  and  marched 
away  to  his  quarters  with  his  bag  of  piastres.  I  sent  for  Der- 
vish, but  for  some  time  he  was  not  to  be  found ;  at  last  he  en- 
tered, just  as  Signor  Logotheti,  father  to  the  ci-devant  Anglo- 
consul  of  Athens,  and  some  other  of  my  Greek  acquaintances, 
paid  me  a  visit.  Dervish  took  the  money,  but  on  a  sudden 
dashed  it  to  the  ground;  and  clasping  his  hands,  which  he 
raised  to  his  forehead,  rushed  out  of  the  room  weeping  bitterly. 
From  that  moment  to  the  hour  of  my  embarkation,  he  continued 
his  lamentations,  and  all  our  efforts  to  console  him  only  producd 
this  answer,  "M"  a<j>£tt>ct,"  "He  leaves  me."  Signor  Logotheti, 
who  never  wept  before  for  any  thing  less  than  the  loss  of  a  para, 
(about  the  fourth  of  a  farthing,)  melted ;  the  padre  of  the  con- 
vent, my  attendants,  my  visitors — and  I  verily  believe  that  even 
Sterne's  "  foolish  fat  scullion"  would  have  left  her  "  fish-kettle" 
to  sympathize  with  the  unaffected  and  unexpected  sorrow  of  this 
barbarian. 

For  my  own  part,  when  I  remembered  that,  a  short  time  be- 
fore my  departure  from  England,  a  noble  and  most  intimate  asso- 
ciate had  excused  himself  from  taking  leave  of  me  because  he 
had  to  attend  a  relation  "  to  a  milliner's,"  I  felt  no  less  sur- 
prised than  humiliated  by  the  present  occurrence  and  the  past 
recollection.  That  Dervish  would  leave  me  with  some  regret 
was  to  be  expected :  when  master  and  man  have  been  scram- 
bling over  the  mountains  of  a  dozen  provinces  together,  they  are 
unwilling  to  separate ;  but  his  present  feelings,  contrasted  with 
his  native  ferocity,  improved  my  opinion  of  the  human  heart.  I 
believe  this  almost  feudal  fidelity  is  frequent  amongst  them. 
One  day,  on  our  journey  over  Parnassus,  an  Englishman  in  my 
service  gave  him  a  push  in  some  dispute  about  the  baggage, 
which  he  unluckily  mistook  for  a  blow;  he  spoke  not,  but  sa- 
down  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hands.  Foreseeing  the  conse- 
quences, we  endeavoured  to  explain  away  the  affront,  which 


260  APPENDIX. 

produced  the  following  answer: — "I  have  been  a  robber;  I 
soldier;  no  captain  ever  struck  me;  you  are  my  master,  I  have 
eaten  your  bread,  but  by  that  bread !  (an  usual  oath)  had  it  been 
otherwise,  I  would  have  stabbed  the  dog  your  servant,  and  gone 
to  the  mountains."  So  the  affair  ended,  but  from  that  day  for- 
ward he  never  thoroughly  forgave  the  thoughtless  fellow  who 
insulted  him.  Dervish  excelled  in  the  dance  of  his  country, 
conjectured  to  be  a  remnant  of  the  ancient  Pyrrhic :  be  that  as 
it  may,  it  is  manly,  and  requires  wonderful  agility.  It  is  very 
distinct  from  the  slupid  llomaika,  the  dull  round-about  of  the 
Greeks,  of  which  our  Athenian  party  had  so  many  specimens. 

The  Albanians  in  general  (I  do  not  mean  the  cultivators  of 
the  earth  in  the  provinces,  who  have  also  that  appellation,  but 
the  mountaineers)  have  a  fine  cast  of  countenance ;  and  the  most 
beautiful  women  I  ever  beheld,  in  stature  and  in  features,  we 
saw  levelling  the  road  broken  down  by  the  torrents  between 
Delvinachi  and  Libochabo.  Their  manner  of  walking  is 
truly  theatrical ;  but  this  strut  is  probably  the  effect  of  the  ca- 
pote, or  cloak,  depending  from  one  shoulder.  Their  long  hair 
reminds  you  of  the  Spartans,  and  their  courage  in  desultory 
warfare  is  unquestionable.  Though  they  have  some  cavalry 
amongst  the  Gegdes,  I  never  saw  a  good  Arnaout  horseman ; 
my  own  preferred  the  English  saddles,  which,  however,  they 
could  never  keep.  But  on  foot  they  are  not  to  be  subdued  by 
fatigue. 


Note    [C.] — SPECIMEN  OF  THE  ALBANIAN  OR  ARNAOUT  DIA- 
LECT OF  THE  ILLYRIC.     See  p.  100. 

"  While,  thus  in  concert"  $~c. 

Stanza  Ixxii. 

As  a  specimen  of  the  Albanian  or  Arnaout  dialect  of  the  Illy- 
ric,  I  here  insert  two  of  their  most  popular  choral  songs,  which 
are  generally  chanted  in  dancing  by  men  or  women  indiscrimi 
nately.  The  first  words  are  merely  a  kind  of  chorus  without 
meaning,  like  some  in  our  own  and  all  other  languages. 

1.  Bo,  Bo,  Bo,  Bo,  Bo,  Bo,  1.  Lo,  Lo,  I  come,  I  come ;  be 
Naciarura,  popuso.  thou  silent. 

2.  Naciarura  na  civin  2.  I  come,  I  run ;  open  the  door 
Ha  pen  derini  ti  bin  that  I  may  enter. 


APPENDIX. 


2G1 


3.  Ha  pe  uderi  escrotini 
Ti  vin  ti  mar  servetirii. 

4.  Caliriote  me  surme 
Ea  ha  pe  pse  dua  tive. 

5.  Buo,  Bo,  Bo,  Bo,  Bo, 

Gi  egem  spirta  esimiro. 

6.  Caliriote  vu  le  funde 
Ede  vete  tunde  tunde. 

7.  Caliriote  me  surme 
Ti  mi  put  e  poi  mi  le. 

8.  Se  ti  puta  citi  mora 

Si  mi  ri  ni  veti  udo  gia. 

9.  Va  le  ni  il  che  cadale 
Celo  more,  more  celo. 

10.  Plu  hari  ti  tirete 

Plu  huron  cai  pra  seti. 


3.  Open  the  door  by  halves,  that 
I  may  take  my  turban. 

4.  Caliriotes*  with    the    dark 

eyes,  open  the  gate  that  I 
may  enter. 

5.  Lo,   Lo,   I    hear  thee,  my 

soul. 

6.  An  Arnaout  girl,  in  costly 

garb,  walks  with  graceful 
pride. 

7.  Caliriot   maid  of  the  dark 

eyes,  give  me  a  kiss. 

8.  If  I  have  kissed  thee,  what 

hast  thou  gained  1  My  soul 
is  consumed  with  fire. 

9.  Dance  lightly,  more  gently, 

and  gently  still. 

10.  Make  not  so  much  dust  to 
destroy  your  embroidered 
hose. 


The  last  stanza  would  puzzle  a  commentator:  the  men  have 
certainly  buskins  of  the  most  beautiful  texture,  but  the  ladies 
(to  whom  the  above  is  supposed  to  be  addressed)  have  nothing 
under  their  little  yellow  boots  and  slippers  but  a  well-turned  and 
sometimes  very  white  ankle.  The  Arnaout  girls  are  much 
handsomer  than  the  Greeks,  and  their  dress  is  far  more  pictur- 
esque. They  preserve  their  shape  much  longer  also,  from  being 
always  in  the  open  air.  It  is  to  be  observed,  that  the  Arnaout 
is  not  a  written  language :  the  words  of  this  song,  therefore,  as 
well  as  the  one  which  follows,  are  spelt  according  to  their  pro- 
nunciation. They  are  copied  by  one  who  speaks  and  under- 
stands the  dialect  perfectly,  and  who  is  a  native  of  Athens. 

1.  Ndi  sefda  tinde  ulavossa        1. 1  am  wounded  by  thy  love,  and 
Vettimi  upri  vi  lofsa.  have   loved  but  to  scorch 

myself. 

2.  Ah  vaisisso  mi  privo  lofse       2.  Thou  hast  consumed  me!  Ah, 
Si  mi  rini  mi  la  vosse.  maid  !  thou  hast  struck  me 

to  the  heart. 


*The  Alhanese,   particularly  the  women,   are   frequently   termed    "Call 
lotes;"  for  what  reason  I  inquired  in  vain. 


2C2  APPENDIX. 

3.  Uti  tasa  roba  stua  3. 1  have  said  I  wish  no  dowry, 
Sitti  eve  tulati  dua.  but  thine  eyes  and  eyelashes. 

4.  Roba  stinori  ssidua  4.  The  accursed  dowry  I  want 
Qu  mi  sini  vetti  dua.  not,  but  thee  only. 

5.  Qurmini  dua  civileni  5.  Give  me  thy  charms,  and  le* 
Roba  ti  siarmi  tildi  eni.  the  portion  feed  the  flames 

G.  Utara    pisa    vaisisso    me  6.  I  have  loved  thee,  maid,  with 

simi  rin  ti  hapti  a  sincere  soul,  butthou  hast 

Eti  mi  hire  a  piste  si  gui  left  me  like  a  withered  tree. 

dendroi  tiltati. 

7.  Udivuraudoriniudiricico-  7.  If  I  have  placed  my  hand  on 

va  cilti  mora  thy  bosom,   what    have  I 

Udorini  talti  hollna  u  ede  gained  1  my  hand  is  with- 

caimoni  mora.  drawn,  but  retains  the  flame. 

I  believe  the  two  last  stanzas,  as  they  are  in  a  different  measure, 
ought  to  belong  to  another  ballad.  An  idea  something  similar  to 
the  thought  in  the  last  lines  was  expressed  by  Socrates,  whose 
arm  having  come  in  contact  with  one  of  his  "  vnwoATioi,"  Crito- 
bulus  or  Cleobulus,  the  philosopher  complained  of  a  shooting 
pain  as  far  as  his  shoulder  for  some  days  after,  and  therefore  very 
properly  resolved  to  teach  his  disciples  in  future  without  touch- 
ing them. 


Note  [D.] — THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE   OF  GREECE. 
See  p.  103. 

"  Fair  Greece !  sad  relic  of  departed  worth  ! 
Immortal,  though  no  more ;  though  fallen,  great  /' 

Stanza  Ixxiii. 
I. 

Before  I  say  any  thing  about  a  city  of  which  everybody,  tra- 
veller or  not,  has  thought  it  necessary  to  say  something,  I  will 
request  Miss  Owenson,  when  she  next  borrows  an  Athenian 
heroine  for  her  four  volumes,  to  have  the  goodness  to  marry  her 
to  somebody  more  of  a  gentleman  than  a  "  Disdar  Aga,"  (who,  by- 
the-by,  is  not  an  Aga,)  the  most  impolite  of  petty  officers,  the 
greatest  patron  of  larceny  Athens  ever  saw,  (except  Lord  E.,J 
and  the  unworthy  occupant  of  the  Acropolis,  on  a  handsome 
annual  stipend  of  150  piastres,  (eight  pounds  sterling,)  out  of 
which  he  has  only  to  pay  his  garrison,  the  most  ill-regulated 


APPENDIX.  263 

corps  in  the  ill-regulated  Ottoman  Empire.  I  speak  it  tenderly, 
seeing  I  was  once  the  cause  of  the  husband  of  "Ida  of  Athens" 
nearly  suffering  the  bastinado ;  and  because  the  said  "  Disdar" 
is  a  turbulent  husband,  and  beats  his  wife;  so  that  I  exhort  and 
beseech  Miss  Owenson  to  sue  for  a  separate  maintenance  in 
behalf  of  "  Ida."  Having  premised  thus  much,  on  a  matter  of 
such  import  to  the  readers  of  romances,  I  may  now  leave  Ida,  to 
mention  her  birthplace. 

Setting  aside  the  magic  of  the  name,  and  all  those  associations 
which  it  would  be  pedantic  and  superfluous  to  recapitulate,  the 
very  situation  of  Athens  would  render  it  the  favourite  of  all  who 
have  eyes  for  art  or  nature.  The  climate,  to  me  at  least,  appeared 
a  perpetual  spring ;  during  eight  months  I  never  passed  a  day 
without  being  as  many  hours  on  horseback :  rain  is  extremely 
rare,  snow  never  lies  in  the  plains,  and  a  cloudy  day  is  an  agree- 
able rarity.  In  Spain,  Portugal,  and  every  part  of  the  East 
which  I  visited,  except  Ionia  and  Attica,  I  perceived  no  such 
superiority  of  climate  to  our  own ;  and  at  Constantinople,  where 
I  passed  May,  June,  and  part  of  July,  (1810,)  youmight  "damn 
the  climate,  and  complain  of  spleen,"  five  days  out  of  seven. 

The  air  of  the  Morea  is  heavy  and  unwholesome,  but  the  mo- 
ment you  pass  the  isthmus  in  the  direction  of  Megara,  the  change 
is  strikingly  perceptible.  But  I  fear  Hesiod  will  still  be  found 
correct  in  his  description  of  a  Boeotian  winter. 

We  found  at  Livadia  an  "  esprit  fort"  in  a  Greek  bishop,  of  all 
freethinkers  !  This  worthy  hypocrite  rallied  his  own  religion  with 
great  intrepidity,  (but  not  before  his  flock,)  and  talked  of  a  mass 
as  a  "  coglioneria."  It  was  impossible  to  think  better  of  him  for 
this ;  but,  for  a  Boeotian,  he  was  brisk  with  all  his  absurdity. 
This  phenomenon  (with  the  exception  indeed  of  Thebes,  the 
remains  of  Chseronea,  the  plain  of  Platea,  Orchomenus,  Livadia, 
and  its  nominal  cave  of  Trophonius)  was  the  only  remarkable 
thing  we  saw  before  we  passed  Mount  Cithaeron. 

The  fountain  of  Dirce  turns  a  mill :  at  least  my  companion 
(who,  resolving  to  be  at  once  cleanly  and  classical,  bathed  in  it) 
pronounced  it  to  be  the  fountain  of  Dirce,  and  anybody  who  thinks 
it  worth  while  may  contradict  him.  At  Castri  we  drank  of  half 
a  dozen  streamlets,  some  none  of  the  purest,  before  we  decided  to 
our  satisfaction  which  was  the  true  Castalian,  and  even  that  had 
a  villanous  twang,  probably  from  the  snow,  though  it  did  not 
throw  us  into  an  epic  fever,  like  poor  Dr.  Chandler. 

From  Fort  Phyle,  of  which  large  remains  still  exist,  the  Plain 
of  Athens,  Pentelicus,  Hymettus,  the^gean,  and  the  Acropo.is, 


261  APPENDIX. 

_ 

burst  upon  the  eye  at  once;  in  my  opinion,  a  more  glorious  pros- 
pect than  even  Cintra  or  Istambol.  Not  the  view  from  the 
Troad,  with  Ida,  the  Hellespont,  and  the  more  distant  Mount 
Athos,  can  equal  it,  though  so  superior  in  extent. 

I  heard  much  of  the  beauty  of  Arcadia,  but  excepting  the  view 
from  the  monastery  of  Megaspelion,  (which  is  inferior  to  Zitza  in 
a  command  of  country,)  and  the  descent  from  the  mountains  on 
the  way  from  Tripolitza  to  Argos,  Arcadia  has  little  to  recom- 
mend it  beyond  the  name. 

"  Sternitur,  et  dukes  moriens  reminiscitur  Argos." 

Virgil  could  have  put  this  into  the  mouth  of  none  but  an  Argive, 
and  (with  reverence  be  it  spoken,)  it  does  not  deserve  the  epithet. 
And  if  the  Polynices  of  Statius,  "  In  mediis  audit  duo  litora  cam- 
pis,"  did  actually  hear  both  shores  in  crossing  the  isthmus  of 
Corinth,  he  had  better  ears  than  have  ever  been  worn  in  such  a 
journey  since. 

"  Athens,"  says  a  celebrated  topographer,  "  is  still  the  most 
polished  city  of  Greece."  Perhaps  it  may  of  Greece,  but  not  of 
the  Greeks ;  for  Joanninain  Epirus  is  universally  allowed,  amongst 
themselves,  to  be  superior  in  the  wealth,  refinement,  learning, 
and  dialect  of  its  inhabitants.  The  Athenians  are  remarkable 
for  their  cunning ;  and  the  lower  orders  are  not  improperly  cha- 
racterized in  that  proverb,  which  classes  them  with  "  the  Jews  of 
Salonica,  and  the  Turks  of  the  Negropont." 

Among  the  various  foreigners  resident  in  Athens,  French,  Ita- 
lians, Germans,  Ragusans,  &c.,  there  was  never  a  difference  of 
opinion  in  their  estimate  of  the  Greek  character,  though  on  all 
other  topics  they  disputed  with  great  acrimony. 

M.  Fauvel,  the  French  consul,  who  has  passed  thirty  years 
principally  at  Athens,  and  to  whose  talents  as  an  artist,  and  man- 
ners as  a  gentleman,  none  who  have  known  him  can  refuse  their 
testimony,  has  frequently  declared  in  my  hearing,  that  the  Greeks 
do  not  deserve  to  be  emancipated  ;  reasoning  on  the  grounds  of 
their  "  national  and  individual  depravity !"  while  he  forgot  that 
such  depravity  is  to  be  attributed  to  causes  which  can  only  be 
removed  by  the  measure  he  reprobates. 

M.  Roque,  a  French  merchant  of  respectability  long  settled  in 
Athens,  asserted  with  the  most  amusing  gravity,  "  Sir,  they  are 
the  same  caiuiille  that  existed  in  the  days  of  Themistccks .'"  an 
alarming  remark  to  the  "  Laudator  temporis  acti."  The  ancienls 
banished  Themistocles;  the  moderns  cheat  Monsieur  Roque: 
thus  great  men  have  ever  been  treated  ! 


APPENDIX.  265 

In  short,  all  the  Franks  who  are  fixtures,  and  most  of  tho 
Englishmen,  Germans,  Danes,  &c.  of  passage,  came  over  by  de- 
grees to  their  opinion,  on  much  the  same  grounds  that  a  Turk  in 
England  would  condemn  the  nation  by  wholesale,  because  he 
was  wronged  by  his  lacquey,  and  overcharged  by  his  washer- 
woman. 

Certainly  it  was  not  a  little  staggering  when  the  Sieurs  Fau- 
vel  and  Lusiera,  the  two  greatest  demagogues  of  the  day,  who 
divide  between  them  the  power  of  Pericles  and  the  popularity  of 
Cleon,  and  puzzle  the  poor  waywode  with  perpetual  differences, 
agreed  in  the  utter  condemnation,  "  nulla  virtute  redemptum," 
of  the  Greeks  in  general,  and  of  the  Athenians  in  particular. 

For  my  own  humble  opinion,  I  am  loath  to  hazard  it,  knowing, 
as  I  do,  that  there  be  now  in  MS.  no  less  than  five  tours  of  the 
first  magnitude  and  of  the  most  threatening  aspect,  all  in  typo- 
graphical array,  by  persons  of  wit,  and  honour,  and  regular  com- 
monplace books :  but,  if  I  may  say  this  without  offence,  it  seems 
to  me  rather  hard  to  declare  so  positively  and  pertinaciously,  as 
almost  everybody  has  declared,  that  the  Greeks,  because  they 
are  very  bad,  will  never  be  better. 

Eton  and  Sonnini  have  led  us  astray  by  their  panegyrics  and 
projects;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  De  Pauw  and  Thornton  have 
debased  the  Greeks  beyond  their  demerits. 

The  Greeks  will  never  be  independent;  they  will  never  be 
sovereigns  as  heretofore,  and  God  forbid  they  ever  should !  but 
they  may  be  subjects  without  being  slaves.  Our  colonies  are 
not  independent,  but  they  are  free  and  industrious,  and  such  may 
Greece  be  hereafter. 

At  present,  like  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  and  the  Jews  through- 
out the  world,  and  such  other  cudgelled  and  heterodox  people, 
they  suffer  all  the  moral  and  physical  ills  that  can  afflict  humanity. 
Their  life  is  a  struggle  against  truth ;  they  are  vicious  in  their 
own  defence.  They  are  so  unused  to  kindness,  that  when  they 
occasionally  meet  with  it  they  look  upon  it  with  suspicion,  as  a 
dog  often  beaten  snaps  at  your  fingers  if  you  attempt  to  caress 
him.  "  They  are  ungrateful,  notoriously,  abominably  ungrate- 
ful 1" — this  is  the  general  cry.  Now,  in  the  name  of  Nemesis ! 
for  what  are  they  to  be  grateful !  Where  is  the  human  being 
that  ever  conferred  a  benefit  on  Greek  or  Greeks  ?  They  are  to 
be  grateful  to  the  Turks  for  their  fetters,  and  to  the  Franks  foi 
their  broken  promises  and  lying  counsels.  They  are  to  be  grate- 
ful to  the  artist  who  engraves  their  ruins,  and  to  the  antiquary 
who  carries  them  away ;  to  the  traveller  whose  janissary  flogs 

23 


266  APPENDIX. 

them,  and  to  the  scribbler  whose  journal  abuses  them !     This  is 
the  amount  of  their  obligations  to  foreigners. 

II. 

Franciscan  Convent,  Athens,  January  23,  1811. 

Amongst  the  remnants  of  the  barbarous  policy  of  the  earlier 
ages,  are  the  traces  of  bondage  which  yet  exist  in  different  coun- 
tries ;  whose  inhabitants,  however  divided  in  religion  and  man- 
ners, almost  all  agree  in  oppression. 

The  English  have  at  last  compassionated  their  negroes,  and 
under  a  less  bigoted  government,  may  probably  one  day  release 
their  Catholic  brethren:  but  the  interposition  of  foreigners  alone 
can  emancipate  the  <Sreeks,  who  otherwise,  appear  to  have  as 
small  a  chance  of  redemption  from  the  Turks,  as  the  Jews  have 
from  mankind  in  general. 

Of  the  ancient  Greeks  we  know  more  than  enough;  at  least 
the  younger  men  of  Europe  devote  much  of  their  time  to  the 
study  of  the  Greek  writers  and  history,  which  would  be  more 
usefully  spent  in  mastering  their  own.  Of  the  moderns,  we  are 
perhaps  more  neglectful  than  they  deserve  ;  and  while  every  man 
of  any  pretensions  to  learning  is  tiring  out  his  youth,  and  often 
his  age,  in  the  study  of  the  language  and  of  the  harangues  of  the 
Athenian  demagogues  in  favour  of  freedom,  the  real  or  supposed 
descendants  of  these  sturdy  republicans  are  left  to  the  actual 
tyranny  of  their  masters,  although  a  very  slight  effort  is  required 
to  strike  off  their  chains. 

To  talk,  as  the  Greeks  themselves  do,  of  their  rising  again  to 
their  pristine  superiority,  would  be  ridiculous  :  as  the  rest  of  the 
world  must  resume  its  barbarism,  after  reasserting  the  sovereignty 
of  Greece :  but  there  seems  to  be  no  very  great  obstacle,  except 
in  the  apathy  of  the  Franks,  to  their  becoming  a  useful  depend- 
ency, or  even  a  free  state  with  a  proper  guarantee ; — under  cor- 
rection, however,  be  it  spoken,  for  many  and  well  informed  men 
doubt  the  practicability  even  of  this. 

The  Greeks  have  never  lost  their  hope,  though  they  are  now- 
more  divided  in  opinion  on  the  subject  of  their  probable  deliver- 
ers. Religion  recommends  the  Russians  ;  but  they  have  twice 
been  deceived  and  abandoned  by  that  power,  and  the  dreadful 
lesson  they  received  after  the  Muscovite  desertion  in  the  Morea 
has  never  been  forgotten.  The  French  they  dislike  ;  although 
the  subjugation  of  the  rest  of  Europe  will,  probably,  be  attended 
by  the  deliverance  of  continental  Greece.  The  islanders  look  to 


APPENDIX.  26? 

the  English  for  succour,  as  they  have  very  lately  possessed  them- 
selves of  the  Ionian  republic,  Corfu  excepted.  But  whoever 
appear  with  arms  in  their  hands  will  be  welcome ;  and  when 
that  day  arrives,  Heaven  have  mercy  on  the  Ottomans,  they 
cannot  expect  it  from  the  Giaours. 

But  instead  of  considering  what  they  have  been,  and  specula- 
ting on  what  they  may  be,  let  us  look  at  them  as  they  are. 

And  here  it  is  impossible  to  reconcile  the  contrariety  of  opi- 
nions ;  some,  particularly  the  merchants,  decrying  the  Greeks  in 
the  strongest  language;  others,  generally  travellers,  turning 
periods  in  their  eulogy,  and  publishing  very  curious  speculations 
grafted  on  their  former  state,  which  can  have  no  more  effect  en 
their  present  lot,  than  the  existence  of  the  Incas  on  the  future 
fortunes  of  Peru. 

One  very  ingenious  person  terms  them  the  "natural  allies  cf 
Englishmen  ;"  another,  no  less  ingenious,  will  not  allow  them 
to  be  the  allies  of  anybody,  and  denies  their  very  descent  from 
the  ancients;  a  third,  more  ingenious  than  either,  builds  a  Greek 
empire  on  a  Russian  foundation,  and  realizes  (on  paper)  all  the 
chimeras  of  Catharine  II.  As  to  the  question  of  their  descent, 
what  can  it  import  whether  the  Mainotes  are  the  lineal  Laconians 
or  not  1  or  the  present  Athenians  as  indigenous  as  the  bees  of 
Hymettus  or  as  the  grasshoppers,  to  which  they  once  likened 
themselves1?  What  Englishman  cares  if  he  be  of  a  Danish, 
Saxon,  Norman,  or  Trojan  blood  1  or  who,  except  a  Welshman, 
is  afflicted  with  a  desire  of  being  descended  from  Caractacus? 

The  poor  Greeks  do  not  so  much  abound  in  the  good  things  of 
this  world,  as  to  render  even  their  claims  to  antiquity  an  object 
of  envy ;  it  is  very  cruel,  then,  in  Mr.  Thornton  to  disturb  them 
in  the  possession  of  all  that  time  has  left  them ;  viz.  their  pedi- 
gree, of  which  they  are  the  more  tenacious,  as  it  is  all  they  can 
call  their  own.  It  would  be  worth  while  to  publish  together,  and 
compare,  the  works  of  Messrs.  Thornton  and  De  Pauw,  Eton 
and  Sonnini ;  paradox  on  one  side,  and  prejudice  on  the  other. 
Mr.  Thornton  conceives  himself  to  have  claims  to  public  confi- 
dence from  a  fourteen  years'  residence  at  Pera ;  perhaps  he  may 
on  the  subject  of  the  Turks,  but  this  can  give  him  no  more  insight 
into  the  real  state  of  Greece  and  her  inhabitants,  than  as  many 
years  spent  in  Wapping  into  that  of  the  Western  Highlands. 

The  Greeks  of  Constantinople  live  in  Fanal ;  and  if  Mr.  Thorn 
ton  did  not  oftener  cross  the  Golden  Horn  than  his  brother  mer- 
chants are  accustomed  to  jo,  I  should  place  no  great  reliance  on 
his  infonnation.  I  actually  heard  one  of  these  gentlemen  boast 


268  APPENDIX. 

of  their  little  general  intercourse  with  the  city,  and  assert  of 
himself,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  that  he  had  been  but  Lur  times 
at  Constantinople  in  as  many  years. 

As  to  Mr.  Thornton's  voyages  in  the  Black  Sea  with  Greek 
vessels,  they  gave  him  the  same  idea  of  Greece  as  a  cruise  to 
Berwick  in  a  Scotch  smack  would  of  Johnny  Grot's  house. 
Upon  what  grounds  then  does  he  arrogate  the  right  of  condemn- 
ing by  wholesale  a  body  of  men,  of  whom  he  can  know  little'? 
It  is  rather  a  curious  circumstance  that  Mr.  Thornton,  who  so 
lavishly  dispraises  Pouqueville  on  every  occasion  of  mentioning 
the  Turks,  has  yet  recourse  to  him  as  authority  on  the  Greeks, 
and  terms  him  an  impartial  observer.  Now,  Dr.  Pouqueville  is 
as  little  entitled  to  that  appellation,  as  Mr.  Thornton  to  confer  it 
on  him. 

The  fact  is,  we  are  deplorably  in  want  of  information  on  the 
subject  of  the  Greeks,  and  in  particular  their  literature ;  nor  \3 
there  any  probability  of  our  being  better  acquainted,  till  our  in- 
tercourse becomes  more  intimate,  or  their  independence  con- 
firmed :  the  relations  of  passing  travellers  are  as  little  to  be 
depended  on  as  the  invectives  of  angry  factors ;  but  till  some- 
thing more  can  be  attained,  we  must  be  content  with  the  little  to 
be  acquired  from  similar  sources.* 

However  defective  these  may  be,  they  are  preferable  to  the 
paradoxes  of  men  who  have  read  superficially  of  the  ancients,  and 


*  A  word,  en  passant,  with  Mr.  Thornton  and  Dr.  Pouqueville,  who  have 
been  guilty  between  them  of  sadly  clipping  the  Sultan's  Turkish. 

Dr.  Pouqueville  tells  a  long  story  of  a  Moslem  who  swallowed  corrosive  sub- 
limate in  such  quantities,  that  he  acquired  the  name  of  "  Suleyman  Yeyen,"  i.  e. 
quoth  the  doctor,  "  Suleyman,  the  eater  of  corrosive  sublimate."  "Aha!"  thinks 
Mr.  Thornton,  (angry  with  the  doctor  for  the  fiftieth  time,)  "have  I  caught 
you !" — Then,  in  a  note  twice  the  thickness  of  the  doctor's  anecdote,  he  ques- 
tions the  doctor's  proficiency  in  the  Turkish  tongue,  and  his  veracity  in  his 
own. — "For,"  observes  Mr.  Thornton,  (after  inflicting  on  us  the  tough  parti- 
ciple of  a  Turkish  verb,)  "  it  means  nothing  more  than  Suleyman  the  eater,"  and 
quite  cashiers  the  supplementary  "sublimate."  Now,  both  are  right,  and  both 
are  wrong.  If  Mr.  Thornton,  when  he  next  resides  "  fourteen  years  in  the 
factory,"  will  consult  his  Turkish  dictionary,  or  ask  any  of  his  Stamboline  ac- 
quaintance, he  will  discover  that  "Suleyma'n  yeyen,"  put  together  discreetly, 
mean  the  "  Swallower  of  sublimate,"  without  any  "Suleyman"  in  the  case: 
" Suleyma"  signifying  "corrosive  sublimate,"  and  not  being  a  proper  name  on 
this  occasion,  although  it  be  an  orthodox  name  enough  with  the  addition  of  «. 
After  Mr.  Thornton's  frequent  hints  of  profound  Orientalism,  he  might  have 
found  this  out  before  he  sang  such  pieans  over  Dr.  Pouqueville. 

After  this,  I  think  "Travellers  versus  Factors"  shall  be  our  motto,  though 
the  above  Mr.  Thornton  has  condemned  "hoc  genus  omne,"  for  mistake  alid 
misrepresentation  "Ne  Sutor  ultra  crepidam,"  "No  merchant  beyond  his 
Ifales."-  N.B.  For  the  benefit  of  Mr.  Thornton.  "  Sutor"  is  not  a  proper  name 


APPENDIX.  2€9 

seen  nothing  of  the  moderns,  such  as  De  Pauw;  who,  when  he 
asserts  that  the  British  breed  of  horses  is  ruined  by  Newmarket, 
and  that  the  Spartans  were  cowards  in  the  field,  betrays  an  equal 
knowledge  of  English  horses  and  Spartan  men.  His  "philoso- 
phical observations"  have  a  much  better  claim  to  the  title  of 
"  poetical."  It  could  not  be  expected  that  he  who  so  liberally 
condemns  some  of  the  most  celebrated  institutions  of  the  ancient, 
should  have  mercy  on  the  modern  Greeks;  and  it  fortunately 
happens,  that  the  absurdity  of  his  hypothesis  on  their  forefathers 
refutes  his  sentence  on  themselves. 

Let  us  trust,  then,  that,  in  spite  of  the  prophecies  of  De  Pauw, 
and  the  doubts  of  Mr.  Thornton,  there  is  a  reasonable  hope  of 
the  redemption  of  a  race  of  men,  who,  whatever  may  be  the 
errors  of  their  religion  and  policy,  have  been  amply  punished  by 
three  centuries  and  a  half  of  captivity. 

III. 

Jtthens,  Franciscan  Convent,  March  17, 1811. 
"  I  must  have  some  talk  with  this  learned  Theban." 

Some  time  after  my  return  from  Constantinople  to  this  city,  I 
received  the  thirty-first  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  as  a 
great  favour,  and  certainly  at  this  distance  an  acceptable  one, 
from  the  captain  of  an  English  frigate  off  Salamis.  In  that  num- 
ber, Art.  3.,  containing  the  review  of  a  French  translation  of 
Strabo,  there  are  introduced  some  remarks  on  the  modern  Greeks 
and  their  literature,  with  a  short  account  of  Coray,  a  co-translator 
in  the  French  version.  On  those  remarks  I  mean  to  ground  a  few 
observations ;  and  the  spot  where  I  now  write  will,  I  hope,  be 
sufficient  excuse  for  introducing  them  in  a  work  in  some  degree 
connected  with  the  subject.  Coray,  the  most  celebrated  of  living 
Greeks,  at  least  among  the  Franks,  was  born  at  Scio,  (in  the  Re- 
view, Smyrna  is  stated,  I  have  reason  to  think,  incorrectly,)  and 
besides  the  translation  of  Beccaria  and  other  works  mentioned  by 
the  Reviewer,  has  published  a  lexicon  in  Romaic  and  French,  if  I 
may  trust  the  assurance  of  some  Danish  travellers  lately  arrived 
from  Paris;  but  the  latest  we  have  seen  here  in  French  and 
Greek  is  that  of  Gregory  Zolikogloou.*  Coray  has  recently  been 


*  I  have  in  my  possession  an  excellent  lexicon  "  rptyAuxrirov,"  which  I  re- 
ceived in  exchange  from  S.  G — ,  Esq.,  for  a  small  gem :  my  antiquarian  friends 
have  never  forgotten  it,  or  forgiven  me. 
23* 


370  APPENDIX. 

involved  in  an  unpleasant  controversy  with  M.  Gail,*  a  Parisian 
commentator  and  editor  of  some  translations  from  the  Greek 
poets,  in  consequence  of  the  Institute  having  awarded  him  the 
prize  for  his  version  of  Hippocrates  "  Ilrpi  iJdroc,"  &c.  to  the  dis- 
paragement, and  consequently  displeasure,  of  the  said  Gail.  To 
his  exertions,  literary  and  patriotic,  great  p-raise  is  undoubtedly 
due ;  but  a  part  of  that  praise  ought  not  to  be  withheld  from  the 
two  brothers  Zosimado,  (merchants  settled  in  Leghorn,)  who 
sent  him  to  Paris,  and  maintained  him,  for  the  express  purpose 
cf  elucidating  the  ancient,  and  adding  to  the  modern,  researches 
of  his  countrymen.  Coray,  however,  is  not  considered  by  his 
countrymen  equal  to  some  who  lived  in  the  two  last  centuries ; 
more  particularly  Dorotheus  of  Mitylene.  whose  Hellenic  writ- 
ings are  so  much  esteemed  by  the  Greeks,  that  Meletius  terms 

him   "  Mtra  TOV  QovxvSiSriv  KOI  H£i/o0cojra  apioroj  'EXXijfcoj'."      (P.  22 1. 

Ecclesiastical  History,  vol.  iv.) 

Panagiotes  Kodrikas,  the  translator  of  Fontenelle,  and  Kama- 
rases,  who  translated  Ocellus  Lucanus  on  the  Universe  into 
French,  Christodoulus,  and  more  particularly  Psalida,  whom  I 
have  conversed  with  in  Joannina,  are  also  in  high  repute  among 
their  literati.  The  last-mentioned  has  published  in  Romaic  and 
Latin  a  work  on  "True  Happiness,"  dedicated  to  Catherine  II. 
But  Polyzois,  who  is  stated  by  the"  Reviewer  to  be  the  only  mo- 
dern except  Coray  who  has  distinguished  himself  by  a  know- 
ledge of  Hellenic,  if  he  be  the  Polyzois  Lampanitziotes  of  Ya- 
nina,  who  has  published  a  number  of  editions  in  Romaic,  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  an  itinerant  vender  of  books ;  with 
the  contents  of  which  he  had  no  concern  beyond  his  name  on  the 
titlepage,  placed  there  to  secure  his  property  in  the  publication ; 
and  he  was,  moreover,  a  man  utterly  destitute  of  scholastic  ac- 
quirements. As  the  name,  however,  is  not  uncommon,  some 
other  Polyzois  may  have  edited  the  Epistles  of  Aristaenetus. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  system  of  continental  blockade 
has  closed  the  few  channels  through  which  the  Greeks  received 
their  publications,  particularly  Venice  and  Trieste.  Even  the 
common  grammars  for  children  are  become  too  dear  for  the  lower 


*  In  Gail's  pamphlet  against  Coray,  he  talks  of  "throwing  the  insolont  Hel- 
lenist out  of  the  windows."  On  this  a  French  critic  exclaims,  "  Ah,  my  God  ! 
tnrow  an  Hellenist  out  of  the  window  !  what  sacrilege  !"  It  certainly  would 
he  a  serioj.  business  for  those  authors  who  dwell  in  the  attics :  but  I  have 
rj'ioted  the  passage  merely  to  prove  the  similarity  of  style  among  the  contro- 
versialists of  all  polished  countries  ;  London  or  Edinburgh  could  hardly  paral- 
lel this  Parisian  ebullition 


APPENDIX  271 

orders.  Amongst  their  original  works  the  Geography  of  Mele- 
tius,  Archbishop  of  Athens,  and  a  multitude  of  theological  quar- 
tos and  poetical  pamphlets,  are  to  be  met  with ;  their  grammars 
and  lexicons  of  two,  three,  and  four  languages,  are  numerous 
and  excellent.  Their  poetry  is  in  rhyme.  The  most  singular 
piece  I  have  lately  seen  is  a  satire  in  dialogue  between  a  Rus- 
sian, English,  and  French  traveller,  and  the  Wsywode  of  Wal- 
lachia,  (or  Blackbey,  as  they  term  him,)  an  archbishop,  a  mer- 
chant, and  Cogia  Bachi,  (or  primate,)  in  succession ;  to  all  of 
whom  under  the  Turks  the  writer  attributes  the'r  present  dege- 
neracy. Their  songs  are  sometimes  pretty  and  pathetic,  but 
their  tunes  generally  unpleasing  to  the  ear  of  a  Frank ;  the  best 
is  the  famous  "  Arfre  iraTfcs  ruv  'E\\ni>wv"  by  the  unfortunate  Riga. 
But  from  a  catalogue  of  more  than  sixty  authors,  now  before  me, 
only  fifteen  can  be  found  who  have  touched  on  any  theme  except 
theology. 

I  am  intrusted  with  a  commission  by  a  Greek  of  Athens  named 
Marmarotouri  to  make  arrangements,  if  possible,  for  printing  in 
London  a  translation  of  Barthelemi's  Anacharsis  in  Romaic,  as 
he  has  no  other  opportunity,  unless  he  despatches  the  MS.  to 
Vienna  by  the  Black  Sea  and  Danube. 

The  Reviewer  mentions  a  school  established  at  Hecatonesi, 
and  suppressed  at  the  instigation  of  Sebastian! :  he  means  Cido- 
nies,  or,  in  Turkish,  Haivali ;  a  town  on  the  continent,  where 
that  institution  for  a  hundred  students  and  three  professors  still 
exists.  It  is  true  that  this  establishment  was  disturbed  by  the 
Porte,  under  the  ridiculous  pretext  that  the  Greeks  were  con- 
structing a  fortress  instead  of  a  college:  but  on  investigation, 
and  the  payment  of  some  purses  to  the  Divan,  it  has  been  per- 
mitted to  continue.  The  principal  professor,  named  Ueniamin, 
(i.  e.  Benjamin,)  is  stated  to  be  a  man  of  talent,  but  a  free- 
thinker. He  was  born  in  Lesbos,  studied  in  Italy,  and  is  master 
of  Hellenic,  Latin,  and  some  Frank  languages ;  besides  a  smat- 
tering of  the  sciences. 

Though  it  is  not  my  intention  to  enter  farther  on  this  topic 
than  may  allude  to  the  article  in  question,  I  cannot  but  observe 
that  the  Reviewer's  lamentation  over  the  fall  of  the  Greeks  ap- 
pears singular,  when  he  closes  it  with  these  words :  "  The 
change  is  to  be  attributed  to  their  misfortunes  rather  than  to  any 
'•physical  degradation.''  "  It  may  be  true  that  the  Greeks  are 
not  physically  degenerated,  and  that  Constantinople  contained 
on  the  day  when  it  changed  masters  as  many  men  of  six  feel 
and  upwards  as  in  the  hour  of  prosperity ;  but  ancient  history 


272  APPENDIX. 

and  modern  politics  instruct  us  that  something  more  than  physl 
cal  perfection  is  necessary  to  preserve  a  state  in  vigour  and  inde- 
pendence; and  the  Greeks,  in  particular,  are  a  melancholy 
example  of  the  near  connection  between  moral  degradation  and 
national  decay. 

The  Reviewer  mentions  a  plan,  "we  believe"  hy  Potemkin,  foi 
the  purification  of  the  Romaic ;  and  I  have  endeavoured  in  vain 
to  procure  any  tidings  or  traces  of  its  existence.  There  was  an 
academy  at  St.  Petersburg  for  the  Greeks ;  but  it  was  suppress- 
ed by  Paul,  and  has  not  been  revived  by  his  successor. 

There  is  a  slip  of  the  pen,  and  it  can  only  be  a  slip  of  the  pen, 
in  p.  58,  No.  31,  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  where  these  words 
occur: — "We  are  told  that  when  the  capital  of  the  East  yielded 
to  Solyman"- — It  may  be  presumed  that  this  last  word  will,  in  a 
future  edition,  be  altered  to  Mahomet  II.*  The  "  ladies  of  Con- 
stantinople," it  seems,  at  that  period  spoke  a  dialect,  "  which 
would  not  have  disgraced  the  lips  of  an  Athenian."  I  do  not 
know  how  that  might  be,  but  am  sorry  to  say  the  ladies  in  gene- 
ral, and  the  Athenians  in  particular,  are  much  altered ;  being  far 
from  choice  either  in  their  dialect  or  expression,  as  the  whole 
Attic  race  are  barbarous  to  a  proverb  :— 

"  £1  A.6riva,  irport]  xapa, 
Ti  yaicapovs  T/>£0£ij  Ttopa." 

In  Gibbon,  vol.  x.  p.  161,  is  the  following  sentence: — "The 
vulgar  dialect  of  the  city  was  gross  and  barbarous,  though  the 
compositions  of  the  church  and  palace  sometimes  affected  to 
copy  the  purity  of  the  Attic  models."  Whatever  may  be  assert- 
ed on  the  subject,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  that  the  "ladies  of 


*  In  a  former  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  1808,  it  is  observed,  "Lord 
Byron  passed  some  of  his  early  years  in  Scotland,  where  he  might  have  learned 
that  pibroch  does  not  mean  a  bagpipe,  any  more  than  duet  means  a  fiddle." 
Query,— Was  it  in  Scotland  that  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  Edinburgh  Re- 
view learned  that  Solyma.ii  means  Mahomet  II. ,  any  more  than  criticism  means 
infallibility  ? — but  thus  it  is, 

"Caedimus  inque  vicem  prajbemus  crura  sagittis." 

The  mistake  seemed  so  completely  a  lapse  of  the  pen,  (from  the  great  similarity 
of  the  two  words,  and  the  total  absence  of  error  from  the  former  pages  of  the 
literary  leviathan,)  that  I  should  have  passed  it  over  as  in  the  text,  had  I  not 
perceived  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  much  facetious  exultation  on  ail  such  de- 
lections,  particularly  a  recent  one,  where  words  and  syllables  are  subjects  of 
disquisition  and  transposition;  and  the  above-mentioned  parallel  passage  in 
my  own  c.ase  irresistibly  propelled  me  to  hint  how  much  easier  it  is  to  be  criti- 
r;tl  than  correct.  The  gentlemen,  having  enjoyed  many  a  triumph  on  such 
victories,  will  hardly  begrudge  me  a  slight  ovation  for  the  present. 


APPENDIX.  273 

Constantinople,"  in  the  reign  of  the  last  Caesar,  spoke  a  purer 
dialect  than  Anna  Comnena  wrote  three  centuries  before :  and 
those  royal  pages  are  not  esteemed  the  best  models  of  composition, 

although  the  princess  y\WTTai>  ti\tv  AKPIBaS  Arruci£o»o-ai'.      In   the 

Fanal,  and  in  Yanina,  the  best  Greek  is  spoken :  in  the  latter 
there  is  a  flourishing  school  under  the  direction  of  Psalida. 

There  is  now  in  Athens  a  pupil  of  Psalida's,  who  is  making  a 
tour  of  observation  through  Greece :  he  is  intelligent,  and  better 
educated  than  a  fellow-commoner  of  most  colleges.  I  mention 
this  as  a  proof  that  the  spirit  of  inquiry  is  not  dormant  among 
the  Greeks. 

The  Reviewer  mentions  Mr.  Wright,  the  author  of  the  beauti- 
ful poem  "  Horse  lonicae,"  as  qualified  to  give  details  of  these 
nominal  Romans  and  degenerate  Greeks  ;  and  also  of  their  Ian- 
guage :  but  Mr.  Wright,  though  a  good  poet  and  an  able  man, 
has  made  a  mistake  where  he  states  the  Albanian  dialect  of  the 
Romaic  to  approximate  nearest  to  the  Hellenic;  for  the  Albanians 
speak  a  Romaic  as  notoriously  corrupt  as  the  Scotch  of  Aberdeen- 
shire,  or  the  Italian  of  Naples.  Yanina,  (where,  next  to  the 
Fanal,  the  Greek  is  purest,)  although  the  capital  of  AH  Pasha's 
dominions,  is  not  in  Albania  but  Epirus  ;  and  beyond  Delvinachi 
in  Albania  Proper  up  to  Argyrocastro  and  Tepaleen,  (beyond 
which  I  did  not  advance,)  they  speak  worse  Greek  than  even  the 
Athenians.  I  was  attended  for  a  year  and  a  half  by  two  of  these 
singular  mountaineers,  whoso  mother  tongue  is  Illyric,  and  I 
never  heard  them  or  their  countrymen  (whom  I  have  seen,  not 
only  at  home,  but  to  the  amount  of  twenty  thousand  in  the  army 
of  Vely  Pasha)  praised  for  their  Greek,  but  often  laughed  at  Tor 
their  provincial  barbarisms. 

I  have  in  my  possession  about  twenty-five  letters,  amongst 
which  some  from  the  Bey  of  Corinth,  written  to  me  by  Notarus, 
the  Cogia  Baehi,  and  others  by  the  dragoman  of  the  Caimacam 
of  the  Morea,  (which  last  governs  in  Vely  Pasha's  absence,)  are 
said  to  be  favourable  specimens  of  their  epistolary  style.  I  also 
received  some  at  Constantinople  from  private  persons,  written 
in  a  most  hyperbolical  style,  but  in  the  true  antique  character. 

The  Reviewer  proceeds,  after  some  remarks  on  the  tongue  in 
it*  past  and  present  state,  to  a  paradox  (page  59)  on  the  great 
mischief  the  knowledge  of  his  own  language  has  done  to  Coray, 
\\  ho,  it  seems,  is  less  likely  to  understand  the  ancient  Greek, 
because  he  is  perfect  master  of  the  modern !  This  observation 
follows  a  paragraph,  recommending,  in  explicit  terms,  the  stuay 
of  the  Romaic,  as  "a  powerful  auxiliary,"  not  only  to  the  travellei 


274  APPENDIX. 

and  foreign  merchant,  but  also  to  the  classical  scholar;  in  short, 
to  everybody  except  the  only  person  who  can  be  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  its  uses  ;  and,  by  a  parity  of  reasoning,  our  old 
language  is  conjectured  to  be  probably  more  attainable  Dy 
"  foreigners"  than  by  ourselves !  Now,  I  am  inclined  to  think, 
that  a  Dutch  tyro  in  our  tongue  (albeit  himself  of  Saxon  blood) 
would  be  sadly  perplexed  with  "  Sir  Tristram,"  or  any  other 
given  "  Auchinleck  MS.,"  with  or  without  a  grammar  or  glossary ; 
and  to  most  apprehensions  it  seems  evident,  that  none  but  a  native 
can  acquire  a  competent,  far  less  complete,  knowledge  of  OUT  ob- 
solete idioms.  We  may  give  the  critic  credit  for  his  ingenuity, 
but  no  more  believe  him  than  we  do  Smollett's  Lismahago,  who 
maintains  that  the  purest  English  is  spoken  in  Edinburgh.  That 
Coray  may  err  is  very  possible;  but  if  he  does,  the  fault  is  in 
the  man  rather  than  in  his  mother  tongue,  which  is,  as  it  ou^ht 
to  be,  of  the  greatest  aid  to  the  native  student. — Here  the  Re- 
viewer proceeds  to  business  on  Strabo's  translators,  and  here  I 
close  my  remarks. 

Sir  W.  Drummond,  Mr.  Hamilton,  Lord  Aberdeen,  Dr.  Clarke, 
Captain  Leake,  Mr.  Gell,  Mr.  Walpole,  and  many  others  now  in 
England,  have  all  the  requisites  to  furnish  details  of  this  fallen 
people.  The  few  observations  I  have  offered  I  should  have  left 
where  I  made  them,  had  not  the  article  in  question,  and,  above  all, 
the  spot  where  I  read  it,  induced  me  to  advert  to  those  pages, 
which  the  advantage  of  my  present  situation  enabled  me  to  clear, 
or  at  least  to  make  the  attempt. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  waive  the  personal  feelings,  which  rise 
in  despite  of  me  in  touching  upon  any  part  of  the  Edinburgh  Re- 
view; not  from  a  wish  to  conciliate  the  favour  of  its  writers,  or 
to  cancel  the  remembrance  of  a  syllable  I  have  formerly  publish- 
ed, but  simply  from  a  sense  of  the  impropriety  of  mixing  up 
private  resentments  with  a  disquisition  of  the  present  kind,  and 
more  particularly  at  this  distance  of  time  and  place. 


Note    [E.] — ON  THE    PRESENT  STATE   OF  TURKEY   AND  THE 
TURKS.     See  p.  103. 

The  difficulties  of  travelling  in  Turkey  have  been  much  exag- 
gerated, or  rather  have  considerably  diminished,  of  late  years. 
The  Mussulmans  have  been  beaten  into  a  kind  of  sullen  civility, 
very  comfortable  to  voyagers. 

It  is  hazardous  to  say  much  on  the  subject  of  Turks  and  Tur- 


APPENDIX.  275 


key;  since  it  is  possible  to  live  amongst  them  twenty  years 
without  acquiring  information,  at  least  from  themselves.  As  far 
as  my  own  slight  experience  carried  me,  I  have  no  complaint  to 
make  ;  but  am  indebted  for  many  civilities  (I  might  almost  say 
for  friendship)  and  much  hospitality,  to  Ali  Pasha,  his  son  Veil 
Pasha  of  the  Morea,  and  several  others  of  high  rank  in  the  pro- 
vinces. Suleyman  Aga,  late  Governor  of  Athens,  and  now  of 
Thebes,  was  a  bon  meant,  and  as  social  a  being  as  ever  sat  cross- 
legged  at  a  tray  or  a  table.  During  the  carnival,  when  oar  Eng- 
lish party  were  masquerading,  both  himself  and  his  successor 
were  more  happy  to  "  receive  masks,"  than  any  dowager  in 
Grosvenor-square. 

On  one  occasion  of  his  supping  at  the  convent,  his  friend  and 
visitor,  the  Cadi  of  Thebes,  was  carried  from  table  perfectly 
qualified  for  any  club  in  Christendom  ;  while  the  worthy  way- 
wode  himself  triumphed  in  his  fall. 

In  aH  money  transactions  with  the  Moslems,  I  ever  found  the 
strictest  honour,  the  highest  disinterestedness.  In  transacting 
business  with  them,  there  are  none  of  those  dirty  peculations, 
under  the  name  of  interest,  difference  of  exchange,  commission, 
&c.  &c.  uniformly  found  in  applying  to  a  Greek  consul  to  cash 
bills,  even  on  the  first  houses  in  Pera. 

With  regard  to  presents,  an  established  custom  in  the  East, 
you  will  rarely  find  yourself  a  loser ;  as  one  worth  acceptance  is 
generally  returned  by  another  of  similar  value — a  horse,  or  a 
shawl. 

In  the  capital  and  at  court  the  citizens  and  courtiers  are  formed 
in  the  same  school  with  those  of  Christianity;  but  there  does 
not  exist  a  more  honourable,  friendly,  and  high-spirited  character 
than  the  true  Turkish  provincial  aga,  or  Moslem  country  gentle- 
man. It  is  not  meant  here  to  designate  the  governors  of  towns, 
but  those  agas  who,  by  a  kind  of  feudal  tenure,  possess  lands 
and  houses,  of  more  or  less  extent,  in  Greece  and  Asia  Minor. 

The  lower  orders  are  in  as  tolerable  discipline  as  the  rabble  in 
countries  with  greater  pretensions  to  civilization.  A  Moslem,  in 
walking  the  streets  of  our  country  towns,  would  be  more  incom- 
moded in  England  than  a  Frank  in  a  similar  situation  in  Turkey. 
Regimentals  are  the  best  travelling  dress. 

The  best  accounts  of  the  religion  and  different  sects  of  Islam- 
ism,  may  be  found  in  D'Ohsson's  French;  of  their  manners, 
&c.  perhaps  in  Thornton's  English.  The  Ottomans,  with  all 
their  defects,  are  not  a  people  to  be  despised.  Equal,  at  least,  to 
the  Spaniards,  they  are  superior  to  the  Portuguese.  If  it  he  d'ffi 


* 


276  A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X. 


cult  to  pronounce  what  they  are,  we  can  at  least  say  what  they 
are  not:  they  are  not  treacherous,  they  are  not  cowardly,  they  do 
not  burn  heretics,  they  are  not  assassins,  nor  has  an  enemy 
advanced  to  their  capital.  They  are  faithful  to  their  sultan  till 
he  becomes  unfit  to  govern,  and  devout  to  their  God  without  an 
inquisition.  Were  they  driven  from  St.  Sophia  to-morrow,  ana 
the  French  or  Russians  enthroned  in  their  stead,  it  would  become 
a  question  whether  Europe  would  gain  by  the  exchange.  Eng- 
land would  certainly  be  the  loser. 

With  regard  to  that  ignorance  of  which  they  are  so  generally, 
and  sometimes  justly  accused,  it  may  be  doubted,  always  except- 
ing France  and  England,  in  what  useful  points  of  knowledge 
they  are  excelled  by  other  nations.  Is  it  in  the  common  arts  of 
life  ?  In  their  manufactures  1  Is  a  Turkish  sabre  inferior  to  a 
Toledo!  or  is  a  Turk  worse  clothed  or  lodged,  or  fed  and  taught, 
than  a  Spaniard?  Are  their  pashas  worse  educated  than  a 
grandee  ?  or  an  effendi  than  a  Knight  of  St.  Jago  ?  I  think  not. 

I  remember  Mahmout,  the  grandson  of  Ali  Pasha,  asking  whe- 
ther my  fellow-traveller  and  myself  were  in  the  upper  or  lower 
House  of  Parliament.  Now,  this  question  from  a  boy  of  ten 
years  old  proved  that  his  education  had  not  been  neglected.  It 
may  be  doubted  if  an  English  boy  at  that  age  knows  the  differ- 
ence of  the  Divan  from  a  College  of  Dervises;  but  I  am  very 
sure  a  Spaniard  does  not.  How  little  Mahmout,  surrounded,  as 
he  had  been,  entirely  by  his  Turkish  tutors,  had  learned  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  a  Parliament,  it  were  useless  to  con- 
jecture, unless  we  suppose  that  his  instructors  did  not  confine 
his  studies  to  the  Koran. 

In  all  the  mosques  there  are  schools  established,  which  are 
very  regularly  attended;  and  the  poor  are  taught  without  the 
church  of  Turkey  being  put  into  peril.  I  believe  the  system  is 
not  yet  printed ;  (though  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  Turkish  press, 
and  books  printed  on  the  late  military  institution  of  the  Nizam 
Gedidd  ;)  nor  have  I  heard  whether  the  Mufti  and  the  Mollas  have 
subscribed,  or  the  Caimacam  and  the  Tefterdar  taken  the  alarm, 
for  fear  the  ingenuous  youth  of  the  turban  should  be  taught  not  to 
"pray  to  God  their  way."  The  Greeks  also — a  kind  of  Eastern 
Irish  Papists — have  a  college  of  their  own  at  Maynooth, — no,  at 
Haivali;  where  the  heterodox  receive  much  the  same  kind  of 
countenance  from  the  Ottoman  as  the  Catholic  college  from  the 
English  legislature.  Who  shall  then  affirm  that  the  Turks  are 
ignorant  bigots,  when  they  thus  evince  the  exact  proportion  of 
Christian  charity  which  is  tolerated  in  the  most  prosperous  and 


9 


APPENDIX.  277 

orthodox  of  all  possible  kingdoms  *  But  though  they  allow  all 
this,  they  will  not  suffer  the  Greeks  to  participate  in  their  privi- 
leges  :  no,  let  them  fight  their  battles,  and  pay  their  haratch, 
(taxes,)  be  drubbed  in  this  world,  and  damned  in  the  next.  And 
shall  we  then  emancipate  our  Irish  Helots?  Mahomet  forbid! 
We  should  then  be  bad  Mussulmans,  and  worse  Christians :  at 
present  we  unite  the  best  of  both — Jesuitical  faith,  and  something 
not  much  inferior  to  Turkish  toleration. 


NOTES  TO  CANTO  III. 

Note  [F.] 

**  Not  vainly  did  the  early  Persian  make 
His  altar  the  high  places  and  the  peak 
Of  earth  o1 ergazing  mountains,  $rc." — Stanza  xci. 

It  is  to  be  recollected,  that  the  most  beautiful  and  impressive 
doctrines  of  the  divine  Founder  of  Christianity  were  delivered, 
not  in  the  Temple,  but  on  the  Mount.  To  waive  the  question  of 
devotion,  and  turn  to  human  eloquence, — the  most  effectual  and 
splendid  specimens  were  not  pronounced  within  walls.  Demos- 
thenes addressed  the  public  and  popular  assemblies.  Cicero 
spoke  in  the  forum.  That  this  added  to  their  effect  on  the  mind 
of  both  orators  and  hearers,  may  be  conceived  from  the  difference 
between  what  we  read  of  the  emotions  then  and  there  produced, 
and  those  we  ourselves  experience  in  the  perusal  in  the  closet. 
It  is  one  thing  to  read  the  Iliad  at  Siga3um,  and  on  the  tumuli, 
or  by  the  springs  with  Mount  Ida  above,  and  the  plain  and  rivers 
and  Archipelago  around  you ;  and  another  to  trim  your  taper  over 
it  in  a  snug  library — this  I  know.  Were  the  early  and  rapid  pro- 
gress of  what  is  called  Methodism  to  be  attributed  to  any  cause 
beyond  the  enthusiasm  excited  by  its  vehement  faith  and  doctrines, 
(the  truth  or  error  of  which  I  presume  neither  to  canvass  nor  to 
question,)  I  should  venture  to  ascribe  it  to  the  practice  of  preach- 
ing in  the  fields,  and  the  unstudied  and  extemporaneous  effusions 
of  its  teachers. — The  Mussulmans,  whose  erroneous  devotion  (at 
least  in  the  lower  orders)  is  most  sincere,  and  therefore  impress- 
ive, are  accustomed  to  repeat  their  prescribed  orisons  and  pray- 
ers, wherever  they  may  be,  at  the  stated  hours — of  course, 
frequently  in  the  open  air,  kneeling  upon  a  light  mat,  (which  thej 
carry  for  the  purpose  of  a  bed  or  cushion  as  required ;)  the  cere 
21 


278  APPENDIX. 


mony  lasts  some  minutes,  during  which  they  are  totally  absorbed, 
and  only  living  in  their  supplication  :  nothing  can  disturb  them. 
On  me  the  simple  and  entire  sincerity  of  these  men,  and  the 
spirit  which  appeared  to  be  within  and  upon  them,  made  a  far 
greater  impression  than  any  general  rite  which  was  ever  per- 
formed in  places  of  worship,  of  which  I  have  seen  those  of  al- 
most every  persuasion  under  the  sun,  including  most  of  our  own 
sectaries,  and  the  Greek,  the  Catholic,  the  Armenian,  the  Lu- 
theran, the  Jewish,  and  the  Mahometan.  Many  of  the  negroes, 
of  whom  there  are  numbers  in  the  Turkish  empire,  are  idolaters, 
and  have  free  exercise  of  their  belief  and  its  rites :  some  of  these 
I  had  a  distant  view  of  at  Patras ;  and,  from  what  I  could  make 
out  of  them,  they  appeared  to  be  of  a  truly  pagan  description, 
and  not  very  agreeable  to  a  spectator. 


Note  [G.] 

"  Clarens  !  by  heavenly  feet  thy  paths  are  trod,— 
Undying  Love's,  who  here  ascends  a  throne 
To  which  the  steps  are  mountains  ,•  where  the  god 
Is  a  pervading  life  and  light,"  &c. — Stanza  c.    See  p.  161. 

Rousseau's  Heloi'se,  Lettre  17,  part.  4,  note.  "Ces  montagnes 
sont  si  hautes  qu'une  demi-heure  apres  le  soleil  couche,  leurs 
sommets  sont  eclaires  de  ses  rayons ;  dont  le  rouge  forme  sur 
ces  cimes  blanches  une  belle  couleur  de  rose,  qu'on  apercoit  de 
fort  loin." — This  applies  more  particularly  to  the  heights  over 
Meillerie. — "  J'allai  a  Vevay  loger  a  la  Clef,  et  pendant  deux 
jours  que  j'y  restai  sans  voir  personne,  je  pris  pour  cette  ville  un 
amour  qui  m'a  suivi  dans  tous  mes  voyages,  et  qui  m'y  a  fait 
etablir  enfin  les  heros  de  mon  roman.  Je  dirais  volontiers  a 
ceux  qui  ont  du  gout  et  qui  sont  sensibles :  Allez  a  Vevay — 
visitez  le  pays,  examinez  les  sites,  promenez-vous  sur  le  lac,  et 
dites  si  la  Nature  n'a  pas  fait  ce  beau  pays  pour  une  Julie,  pour 
une  Claire,  et  pour  un  St.  Preux ;  mais  ne  les  y  cherchez  pas." 
Les  Confessions,  livre  iv.  p.  306.  Lyon,  ed.  1796. — In  July,  1816, 
I  made  a  voyage  round  the  Lake  of  Geneva;  and,  as  far  as  my 
own  observations  have  led  me  in  a  not  uninteresting  nor  inatten- 
tive survey  of  all  the  scenes  most  celebrated  by  Rousseau  in  his 
"  Heloi'se,"  I  can  safely  say,  that  in  this  there  is  no  exaggera- 
tion. It  would  be  difficult  to  see  Clarens  (with  the  scenes 
around  it,  Vevay,  Chillon,  Boveret,  St.  Gingo,  Meillerie,  Eivan, 
and  the  entrances  of  the  Rhone)  without  being  forcibly  struck 


APPENDIX.  279 

with  its  peculiar  adaptation  to  the  persons  and  events  with 
which  it  has  been  peopled.  But  this  is  not  all:  the  feeling 
with  which  all  around  Clarens,  and  the  opposite  rocks  of  Meil- 
lerie,  is  invested,  is  of  a  still  higher  and  more  comprehensive 
order  than  the  mere  sympathy  with  individual  passion ;  it  is  a 
sense  of  the  existence  of  love  in  its  most  extended  and  sublime 
capacity,  and  of  our  own  participation  of  its  good  and  of  its 
glory:  it  is  the  great  principle  of  the  universe,  which  is  there 
more  condensed,  but  not  less  manifested ;  and  of  which,  though 
knowing  ourselves  a  part,  we  lose  our  individuality,  and  mingle 
in  the  beauty  of  the  whole. — If  Rousseau  had  never  written,  nor 
lived,  the  same  associations  would  not  less  have  belonged  to 
such  scenes.  He  has  added  to  the  interest  of  his  works  by  their 
adoption  ;  he  has  shown  his  sense  of  their  beauty  by  the  selec- 
tion ;  but  they  have  done  that  for  him  which  no  human  being 
could  do  for  them. — I  had  the  fortune  (good  or  evil  as  it  might 
be)  to  sail  from  Meillerie  (where  we  landed  for  some  time)  to  St. 
Gingo  during  a  lake  storm,  which  added  to  the  magnificence  of 
all  around,  although  occasionally  accompanied  by  danger  to  the 
boat,  which  was  small  and  overloaded.  It  was  over  this  very 
part  of  the  lake  that  Rousseau  has  driven  the  boat  of  St.  Preux 
and  Madame  Wolmar  to  Meillerie  for  shelter  during  a  tempest. 
On  gaining  the  shore  at  St.  Gingo,  I  found  that  the  wind  had 
been  sufficiently  strong  to  blow  down  some  fine  old  chestnut 
trees  on  the  lower  part  of  the  mountains.  On  the  opposite  height 
of  Clarens  is  a  chateau.  The  hills  are  covered  with  vineyards, 
and  interspersed  with  some  small  but  beautiful  woods ;  one  of 
these  was  named  the  "Bosquet  de  Julie;"  and  it  is  remarkable 
that,  though  long  ago  cut  down  by  the  brutal  selfishness  of  the 
monks  of  St.  Bernard,  (to  whom  the  land  appertained,)  that  the 
ground  might  be  enclosed  into  a  vineyard  for  the  miserable 
drones  of  an  execrable  superstition,  the  inhabitants  of  Clarens 
still  point  out  the  spot  where  its  trees  stood, piling  it  by  the 
name  which  consecrated  and  survived  them.  Rousseau  has  not 
been  particularly  fortunate  in  the  preservation  of  the  "  local  habi- 
tations" he  has  given  to  "  airy  nothings."  The  Prior  of  Great 
St.  Bernard  has  cut  down  some  of  his  woods  for  the  sake  of  a 
few  casks  of  wine,  and  Bonaparte  has  levelled  part  of  the  rocks 
of  Meillerie  in  improving  the  road  to  the  Simplon.  The  road  is 
an  excellent  one;  but  I  cannot  quite  agree  with  the  remark 
which  I  heard  made,  that  "  La  route  vaut  mieux  que  les  souve- 
nirs." 


230  A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X. 


HISTORICAL  NOTES  TO  CANTO  IV. 

No.  I. — STATE  DUNGEONS  OF  VENICE. 

"  I  stood  in  Venice,  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs ; 
Jl  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand." — Stanza  i 

The  communication  between  the  ducal  palace  and  the  prisons 
of  Venice  is  by  a  gloomy  bridge,  or  covered  gallery,  high  above 
the  water,  and  divided  by  a  stone  wall  into  a  passage  and  a  cell. 
The  state  dungeons,  called  pozzi,  or  wells,  were  sunk  in  the 
thick  walls  of  the  palace ;  and  the  prisoner  when  taken  out  to 
die  was  conducted  across  the  gallery  to  the  other  side,  and  being 
then  led  back  into  the  other  compartment,  or  cell,  upon  the 
brido-e,  was  there  strangled.  The  low  portal  through  which  the 
criminal  was  taken  into  this  cell  is  now  walled  up ;  but  the  pas- 
sage is  still  open,  and  is  still  known  by  the  name  of  the  Bridge 
of  Sighs.  The  pozzi  are  under  the  flooring  of  the  chamber  at  the 
foot  of  the  bridge.  They  were  formerly  twelve ;  but  on  the  first 
arrival  of  the  French,  the  Venetians  hastily  blocked  or  broke  up 
the  deeper  of  these  dungeons.  You  may  still,  however,  descend 
by  a  trap-door,  and  crawl  down  through  holes,  half  choked  by 
rubbish,  to  the  depth  of  two  stories  below  the  first  range.  If  you 
are  in  want  of  consolation  for  the  extinction  of  patrician  power, 
perhaps  you  may  find  it  there;  scarcely  a  ray  of  light  glimmers 
into  the  narrow  gallery  which  leads  to  the  cells,  and  the  places 
of  confinement  themselves  are  totally  dark.  A  small  hole  in  the 
wall  admitted  the  damp  air  of  the  passages,  and  served  for  the 
introduction  of  the  prisoner's  food.  A  wooden  pallet,  raised  a 
foot  from  the  ground,  was  the  only  furniture.  The  conductors 
tell  you  that  alight  was  not  allowed.  The  cells  are  about  five 
paces  in  length,  two  and  a  half  in  width,  and  seven  feet  in 
height.  They  are  directly  beneath  one  another,  and  respiration 
is  somewhat  difficult  in  the  lower  holes.  Only  one  prisoner  was 
found  when  the  republicans  descended  into  these  hideous  re- 
cesses, and  he  is  said  to  have  been  confined  sixteen  years.  But 
the  inmates  of  the  dungeons  beneath  had  left  traces  of  their  re- 
pentance, or  of  their  despair,  which  are  still  visible,  and  may, 
perhaps,  owe  something  to  recent  ingenuity.  Some  of  the  de- 
tained appear  to  nave  offended  against,  and  others  to  have  be- 
lono-ed  to,  the  sacred  body,  not  only  from  their  signatures,  but 


APPENDIX.  281 

from  the  churches  and  belfries  which  they  have  scratched  upon 
the  walls.  The  reader  may  not  object  to  see  a  specimen  of  the 
records  prompted  by  so  terrific  a  solitude.  As  nearly  as  they 
could  be  copied  by  more  than  one  pencil,  three  of  them  are  as 
follows :— - 

1.  NOX  TI  FIDAR  AD  ALCCNO  PENSA  C  TACI 
SE  FUGIR  VUOI  DE  SPIONI  INSID1E  6  LACCI 
IL  PENT1RTI  PENTIRTI  NULLA  GIOVA 

MA  BEN  DI  VALOR  TUO  LA  VERA  PROVA 

1607.       ADI  2.    GENARO.    FUI  RE- 
TENTO  P'  LA  BESTIEMMA  P'  AVER  DATO 
DA  MANZAR  A  UN  MORTO 

IACOMO  .  GRITTI  .  SCRISSE. 

2.  UN  PARLAR  POCHO  et 
NEGARE  PRONTO  et 

UN  PENSAR  AL  FINE  PUO  DARE  LA  VITA 

A  NOI  ALTRI  HESCHINI 

1605. 

EGO  IOHN  BAPTISTA  AD 
ECCLESIAM  CORTELLARIU3. 

3.  DE  CHI  MI  FIDO  GCARDAMI  DIO 

DE  CHI  NON  MI  FIDO  MI  GUARDARO  IO 

A  TA     H       A       NA 

V    .    LA  8    .    C    .    K    .    R   . 

The  copyist  has  followed,  not  corrected,  the  solecisms ;  some 
of  which  are,  however,  not  quite  so  decided,  since  the  letters 
were  evidently  scratched  in  the  dark.  It  only  need  be  observed, 
that  bestemmia  and  mangiar  may  be  read  in  the  first  inscription, 
which  was  probably  written  by  a  prisoner  confined  for  some  act 
of  impiety  committed  at  a  funeral ;  that  Cartellarius  is  the  name 
of  a  parish  on  terra  firma,  near  the  sea ;  and  that  the  last  initials 
evidently  are  put  for  Viva  la  santa  Chiesa  Kattolica  Ruma.no.. 


No.  II. — SONGS  OF  THE  GONDOLIERS. 
lln  Venice  Tassel's  echoes  are  no  more." — Stanza  iii. 

The  well  known  song  of  the  gondoliers,  of  alternate  stanza 

from  Tasso's  Jerusalem,  has  died  with   the   independence  of 
24* 


282  APPENDIX. 

Venice.  Editions  of  the  poem,  with  the  original  in  one  column, 
and  the  Venetian  variations  on  the  other,  as  sung  by  thehoatmen, 
were  once  common,  and  are  still  to  be  found.  The  following 
extract  will  serve  to  show  the  difference  between  the  Tuscan  epic 
and  the  "  Canta  alia  Barcariola." 

ORIGINAL. 

Canto  1'  arme  pietose,  e  '1  capitano 

Che  '1  gran  Sepolcro  libero  di  Cristo. 
Molto  egli  opro  col  senno,  e  con  la  mano 

Molto  soffri  nei  glorioso  acquisto ; 
E  in  van  1'  Inferno  a  lui  s'  oppose,  e  in  Yano 

S'  armo  d'  Asia,  e  di  Libia  il  popol  misto, 
Che  il  Ciel  gli  die  favore,  e  sotto  a  i  Santi 
Segni  ridusse  i  suoi  compagni  erranti. 

VENETIAN. 

L'  arme  pietose  de  cantar  gho  vogia, 

E  de  Goffredo  la  immortal  braura 
Che  al  fin  1'  ha  libera  co  strassia,  e  dogia 

Del  nostro  buon  Gesu  la  Sepoltura 
De  mezo  mondo  unito,  e  de  quel  Bogia 

Missier  Pluton  non  1'  ha  bu  mai  paura 
Dio  1'  ha  agiutii,  e  i  compagni  sparpagnai 
Tutti  '1  gh'  i  ha  messi  insieme  i  di  del  Dai. 

Sume  of  the  elder  gondoliers  will,  however,  take  up  and  continue 
a  stanza  of  their  once  familiar  bard. 

On  the  7th  of  last  January,  the  author  of  Childe  Harold,  and 
another  Englishman,  the  writer  of  this  notice,  rowed  to  the  Lido 
with  two  singers,  one  of  whom  was  a  carpenter,  and  the  other  a 
gondolier.  The  former  placed  himself  at  the  prow,  the  latter  at 
the  stern  of  the  boat.  A  little  after  leaving  the  quay  of  the 
Piazzetta,  they  began  to  sing,  and  continued  their  exercise  until 
they  arrived  at  the  island.  They  gave  us,  amongst  other  essays, 
the  death  of  Clorinda,  and  the  palace  of  Armida;  and  did  not 
sing  the  Venetian,  but  the  Tuscan  verses.  The  carpenter,  how- 
ever, who  was  the  cleverer  of  the  two,  and  was  frequently  obliged 
to  prompt  his  companion,  told  us  that  he  could  translate  the 
original.  He  added,  that  he  could  sing  almost  three  hundred 
stanzas,  but  had  not  spirits  (morbin  was  the  word  he  used)  to 
learn  any  mole,  or  to  sing  what  he  already  knew ;  a  man  must 
have  idle  time  on  his  hands  to  acquire,  or  to  repeat,  and,  said  the 
poor  fellow,  "  »ook  a*  my  clothes  and  at  me ;  I  am  starving." 


APPENDIX.  283 

This  speech  was  more  affecting  than  his  performance,  which 
habit  alone  can  make  attractive.  The  recitative  was  shrill, 
screaming,  and  monotonous ;  and  the  gondolier  behind  assisted 
his  voice  by  holding  his  hand  to  one  side  of  his  mouth.  The 
carpenter  used  a  quiet  action,  which  he  evidently  endeavoured  to 
restrain;  but  was  too  much  interested  in  his  subject  altogether 
to  repress.  From  these  men  we  learned  that  singing  is  not  con- 
fined to  the  gondoliers,  and  that,  although  the  chant  is  seldom,  if 
ever,  voluntary,  there  are  still  several  amongst  the  lower  classes 
who  are  acquainted  with  a  few  stanzas. 

It  does  not  appear  that  it  is  usual  for  the  performers  to  row  and 
sing  at  the  same  time.  Although  the  verses  of  the  Jerusalem 
are  no  longer  casually  heard,  there  is  yet  much  music  upon  the 
Venetian  canals ;  and  upon  holidays,  those  strangers  who  are  not 
near  or  informed  enough  to  distinguish  the  words,  may  fancy  that 
many  of  the  gondolas  still  resound  with  the  strains  of  Tasso. 
The  writer  of  some  remarks  which  appeared  in  the  "  Curiosities 
of  Literature,"  must  excuse  his  being  twice  quoted ;  for,  with 
the  exception  of  some  phrases  a  little  too  ambitious  and  extravagant, 
he  has  furnished  a  very  exact,  as  well  as  agreeable,  description : — 

"In  Venice  the  gondoliers  know  by  heart  long  passages  from 
Ariosto  and  Tasso,  and  often  chant  them  with  a  peculiar  melody. 
But  this  talent  seems  at  present  on  the  decline  : — at  least,  after 
taking  some  pains,  I  could  find  no  more  than  tsvo  persons  who 
delivered  to  me  in  this  way  a  passage  from  Tasso.  I  must  add, 
that  the  late  Mr.  Berry  once  chanted  to  me  a  passage  in  Tasso 
in  the  manner,  as  he  assured  me,  of  the  gondoliers. 

"There  are  always  two  concerned,  who  alternately  sing  the 
strophes.  We  know  the  melody  eventually  by  Rousseau,  to 
whose  songs  it  is  printed ;  it  has  properly  no  melodiour  move- 
ment, and  is  a  sort  of  medium  between  the  canto  fermo  and  the 
canto  figurato  ;  it  approaches  to  the  former  by  recitativical  decla- 
mation, and  to  the  latter  by  passages  and  course,  by  which  one 
syllable  is  detained  and  embellished. 

"  I  entered  a  gondola  by  moonlight;  one  singer  placed  himself 
forward  and  the  other  aft,  and  thus  proceeded  to  St.  Georgio. 
One  began  the  song:  when  he  had  ended  his  strophe,  the  other 
took  up  the  lay,  and  so  continued  the  song  alternately.  Through- 
out the  whole  of  it,  the  same  notes  invariably  returned;  but, 
according  to  the  subject  matter  of  the  strope,  they  laid  a'greater 
or  a  smaller  stress,  sometimes  on  one,  and  sometimes  on  another 
note,  and  indeed  changed  the  enunciation  of  the  whole  strophi- 
as  the  object  of  the  poem  altered. 


284  APPENDIX. 

"  On  tlie  whole,  however,  the  sounds  were  hoarse  and  scream- 
ing: they  seemed,  in  the  manner  of  all  rude,  uncivilized  men,  to 
make  the  excellency  of  their  singing  in  the  force  of  their  voice: 
one  seemed  desirous  of  conquering  the  other  by  the  strength  of 
his  lungs;  and  so  far  from  receiving  delight  from  this  scene, 
(shut  up  as  I  was  in  the  box  of  the  gondola,)  I  found  myself  in 
a  very  unpleasant  situation. 

"  My  companion,  to  whom  I  communicated  this  circumstance, 
being  very  desirous  to  keep  up  the  credit  of  his  countrymen,  as- 
sured me  that  this  singing  was  very  delightful  when  heard  at  a 
distance.  Accordingly  we  got  out  upon  the  shore,  leaving  one  of 
the  singers  in  the  gondola,  while  the  other  went  to  the  distance 
of  some  hundred  paces.  They  now  began  to  sing  against  one 
another,  and  I  kept  walking  up  and  down  between  them  both,  so 
as  always  to  leave  him  who  was  to  begin  his  part.  I  frequently 
stood  still  and  hearkened  to  the  one  and  to  the  other. 

"  Here  the  scene  was  properly  introduced.  The  strong  decla- 
matory, and,  as  it  were,  shrieking  sound,  met  the  ear  from  far, 
and  called  forth  the  attention;  the  quickly  succeeding  transitions, 
which  necessarily  required  to  be  sung  in  a  lower  tone,  seemed 
like  plaintive  strains  succeeding  the  vociferations  of  emotion  or 
of  pain.  The  other,  who  listened  attentively,  immediately  began 
where  the  former  left  off,  answering  him  in  the  milder  or  more 
vehement  notes,  according  as  the  purport  of  the  strophe  required. 
The  sleepy  canals,  the  lofty  buildings,  the  splendour  of  the  moon, 
the  deep  shadows  of  the  few  gondolas  that  moved  like  spirits 
hither  and  thither,  increased  the  striking  peculiarity  of  the  scene ; 
and  amidst  all  these  circumstances,  it  was  easy  to  confess  the 
character  of  this  wonderful  harmony. 

"It  suits  perfectly  well  with  an  idle  solitary  mariner,  lying  at 
length  in  his  vessel  at  rest  on  one  of  these  canals,  waiting  for  his 
company,  or  for  a  fare,  the  tiresomeness  of  which  situation  is  some- 
what alleviated  by  the  songs  and  poetical  stories  he  has  in 
memory.  He  often  raises  his  voice  as  loud  as  he  can,  which 
extends  itself  to  a  vast  distance  over  the  tranquil  mirror ;  and  as 
all  is  still  around,  he  is,  as  it  were,  in  a  solitude  in  the  midst  of 
a  large  and  populous  town.  Here  is  no  rattling  of  carriages,  no 
noise  of  foot  passengers;  a  silent  gondola  glides  now  and  then 
by  him,  of  which  the  splashings  of  the  oars  are  scarcely  to  be 
heard. 

"  At  a  distance  he  hears  another,  perhaps  utterly  unknown  to 
h:ai.  Melody  and  verst  immediately  attach  the  two  strangers ; 
he  jecomes  the  responsive  echo  to  the  former,  and  exerts  himself 


APPENDIX.  285 

to  be  heard  as  he  had  heard  the  other.  By  a  tacit  convention 
they  alternate  verse  for  verse ;  though  the  song  should  last  the 
whole  night  through,  they  entertain  themselves  without  fatigue: 
the  hearers,  who  are  passing  between  the  two,  take  part  in  the 
amusement. 

"This  vocal  performance  sounds  best  at  a  great  distance,  and 
is  then  inexpressibly  charming,  as  it  only  fulfils  its  design  in  the 
sentiment  of  remoteness.  It  is  plaintive,  but  not  dismal  in  its 
sound,  and  at  times  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  refrain  from  tears. 
My  companion,  who  otherwise  was  not  a  very  delicately  organized 
person,  said  quite  unexpectedly : — E  singolare  come  quel  canto 
intenerisce,  e  molto  piu  quando  lo  cantano  meglio. 

"  I  was  told  that  the  women  of  Libo,  the  long  row  of  islands 
that  divides  the  Adriatic  from  the  Lagoons,*  particularly  the 
women  of  the  extreme  districts  of  Malamocco  and  Palestrina, 
sing  in  like  manner  the  works  of  Tasso  to  these  and  similar 
tunes. 

"  They  have  the  custom,  when  their  husbands  are  fishing  out 
at  sea,  to  sit  along  the  shore  in  the  evenings  and  vociferate  these 
songs,  and  continue  to  do  so  with  great  violence,  till  each  of 
them  can  distinguish  the  responses  of  her  own  husband  at  a 
distance."")" 

The  love  of  music  and  of  poetry  distinguishes  all  classes  of 
Venetians,  even  amongst  the  tuneful  sons  of  Italy.  The  city 
itself  can  occasionally  furnish  respectable  audiences  for  two  and 
even  three  opera-houses  at  a  time  ;  and  there  are  few  events  in 
private  life  that  do  not  call  forth  a  printed  and  circulated  sonnet. 
Does  a  physician  or  a  lawyer  take  his  degree,  or  a  clergyman 
preach  his  maiden  sermon,  has  a  surgeon  performed  an  operation, 
would  a  harlequin  announce  his  departure  or  his  benefit,  are  you 
to  be  congratulated  on  a  marriage,  or  a  birth,  or  a  lawsuit,  the 
muses  are  invoked  to  furnish  the  same  number  of  syllables,  and 
the  individual  triumphs  blaze  abroad  in  virgin  white  or  party- 
coloured  placards  on  half  the  corners  of  the  capital.  The  last 
courtesy  of  a  favourite  "  prima  donna"  brings  down  a  shcwer  of 
these  poetical  tributes  from  those  upper  regions,  from  which,  in 
our  theatres,  nothing  but  cupids  and  snow-storms  are  accustomed 
to  descend.  There  is  a  poetry  in  the  very  life  of  a  Venetian, 
which,  in  its  common  course,  is  varied  with  those  surprises  and 

*  The  writer  meant  Lido,  which  is  not  a  long  row  of  islands,  but  a  long 
Island  :  lithis,  the  shore. 

+  furiosities  of  Literature,  vol.  ii.  p.  156,  edit.  1807;  and  Appendix  xxix.  hi 
Black's  Life  of  Tasso. 


286  APPENDIX. 


changes  so  recommendable  in  fiction,  but  so  different  from  the 
sober  monotony  of  northern  existence;  amusements  are  raised 
into  duties,  duties  are  softened  into  amusements,  and  every  object 
being  considered  as  equally  making  a  part  of  the  business  of  life, 
is  announced  and  performed  with  the  same  earnest  indifference 
and  gay  assiduity.  The  Venetian  gazette  constantly  closes  its 
columns  with  the  following  triple  advertisement : — 

Charade. 


Exposition  of  the  most  Holy  Sacrament  in  the  church  of 
St. 


Tfieatres. 

St.  Moses,  opera. 

St.  Benedict,  a  comedy  of  characters. 
St.  Luke,  repose. 

When  it  is  recollected  what  the  Catholics  believe  their  con- 
secrated wafer  to  be,  we  may  perhaps  think  it  worthy  of  a  more 
respectable  niche  than  between  poetry  and  the  playhouse. 


No.  III. — THE  LION  AND  HORSES  OK  ST.  MARK'S. 

"  St.  Mark  yet  sees  his  lion  where  he  stood 
Stand," Stanza  xi. 

The  lion  has  lost  nothing  by  his  journey  to  the  Invalides,  but  the 
gospel  which  supported  the  paw  that  is  now  on  a  level  with  the 
other  foot.  The  horses  also  are  returned  to  the  ill-chosen  spot 
whence  they  set  out,  and  are,  as  before,  half-hidden,  under  the 
porch  window  of  St.  Mark's  church.  Their  history,  after  a  des- 
perate struggle,  has  been  satisfactorily  explored.  The  decisions 
and  doubts  of  Erizzo  and  Zanetti,  and,  lastly,  of  the  Count  Leo- 
pold Cicognara,  would  have  given  them  a  Roman  extraction,  and 
a  pedigree  not  more  ancient  than  the  reign  of  Nero.  But  M.  de 
Schlegel  stepped  in  to  teach  the  Venetians  the  value  of  their  own 
treasures,  and  a  Greek  vindicated,  at  last  and  forever,  the  pre- 
tension of  his  countrymen  to  this  noble  production.*  M.  Mustoxidi 
has  not  been  left  without  a  reply ;  but,  as  yet,  he  has  received  no 

*  Sui  quattro  cavalli  della  Basilica  di  S.  Marco  in  Venezia.  Lettera  di 
Andrea  Mustoxidi  Corcirese.  Padua,  1316. 


APPENDIX.  287 

answer.  It  should  seem  that  the  horses  are  irrevocably  Chian, 
and  were  transferred  to  Constantinople  byTheodosius.  Lapidary 
writing  is  a  favourite  play  of  the  Italians,  and  has  conferred  re- 
putation on  more  than  one  of  their  literary  characters.  One  of 
the  best  specimens  of  Bodoni's  typography  is  a  respectable 
volume  of  inscriptions,  all  written  by  his  friend  Pacciaudi.  Se- 
veral were  prepared  for  the  recovered  horses.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
the  best  was  not  selected,  when  the  following  words  were 
ranged  in  gold  letters  above  the  cathedral  porch  :-— 

QUATUOR  •  EQUORUM  •  SIGNA  •  A  •  VENETIS  •  BYZANTIO  •  CAPTA  • 
AD  •  TEMP  •  D  •  MAR  •  A  •  R  •  S  •  MCCIV  •  POSITA  •  QVJS  •  HOSTILIS  • 
CUPIDITAS  •  A  •  MDCCIIIC  •  ABSTULERAT  •  FRANC  •  I  •  IMP  •  PACIS  • 
ORBI  •  DAT.E  •  TROPHJEUM  •  A  •  MDCCCXV  •  VICTOR  •  REDUXIT. 

Nothing  shall  be  said  of  the  Latin,  but  it  may  be  permitted  to 
observe,  that  the  injustice  of  the  Venetians  in  transporting  the 
horses  from  Constantinople  was  at  least  equal  to  that  of  the 
French  in  carrying  them  to  Paris,  and  that  it  would  have  been 
more  prudent  to  have  avoided  all  allusions  to  either  robbery.  An 
apostolic  prince  should,  perhaps,  have  objected  to  affixing  over 
the  principal  entrance  of  a  metropolitan  church  an  inscription 
having  reference  to  any  other  triumphs  than  those  of  religion. 
Nothing  less  than  the  pacification  of  the  world  can  excuse  such 
a  solecism. 


No.  IV. — SUBMISSION  OF  BARBAROSSA  TO  POPE  ALEXANDER  III. 

"77te  Suabian  sued,  and  now  the  Austrian  reigns— 
*2n  emperor  tramples  where  an  emperor  knelt."  Stanza  xii. 

After  many  vain  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  Italians  entirely  to 
throw  off  the  yoke  of  Frederic  Barbarossa,  and  as  fruitless  at- 
tempts of  the  emperor  to  make  himself  absolute  master  through- 
out the  whole  of  his  Cisalpine  dominions,  the  bloody  struggles 
of  four-and-twenty  years  were  happily  brought  to  a  close  in  the 
city  of  Venice.  The  articles  of  a  treaty  had  been  previously 
agreed  upon  between  Pope  Alexander  III.  and  Barbarossa ;  and 
the  fo/mer  having  received  a  safe-conduct,  had  already  arrived  at 
Venice  from  Ferrara,  in  company  with  the  ambassadors  of  the 
King  of  Sicily  and  the  consuls  of  the  Lombard  league.  There 
still  remained,  however,  many  points  to  adjust,  and  for  several 
days  the  peace  was  believed  to  be  impracticable.  At  this  June  • 
lure  it  was  suddenly  reported  that  the  emperor  had  amved  at 


288  APPENDIX. 

Chioza,  a  town  fifteen  miles  from  the  capital.  The  Venetians 
rose  tumultuously,  and  insisted  upon  immediately  conducting 
him  to  the  city.  The  Lombards  took  the  alarm,  and  departed 
towards  Treviso.  The  pope  himself  was  apprehensive  of  some 
disaster  if  Frederic  should  suddenly  advance  upon  him,  but  was 
reassured  by  the  prudence  and  address  of  Sebastiani  Ziani,  the 
doge.  Several  embassies  passed  between  Chioza  and  the  capi- 
tal, until,  at  last,  the  emperor,  relaxing  somewhat  of  his  preten- 
sions, "  laid  aside  his  leonine  ferocity,  and  put  on  the  mildness 
of  the  lamb."* 

On  Saturday,  the  23d  of  July,  in  the  year  1177,  six  Venetian 
galleys  transferred  Frederic,  in  great  pomp,  from  Chioza  to  the 
island  of  Lido,  a  mile  from  Venice.  Early  the  next  morning  the 
pope,  accompanied  by  the  Sicilian  ambassadors,  and  by  the 
envoys  of  Lombardy,  whom  he  had  recalled  from  the  main  land, 
together  with  a  great  concourse  of  people,  repaired  from  the  pa- 
triarchal palace  to  St.  Mark's  church,  and  solemnly  absolved 
the  emperor  and  his  partisans  from  the  excommunication 
pronounced  against  him.  The  Chancellor  of  the  Empire,  on 
the  part  of  his  master,  renounced  the  anti-popes  and  their  schis- 
matic adherents.  Immediately  the  doge,  with  a  great  suite 
both  of  the  clergy  and  laity,  got  on  board  the  galleys,  and,  wait- 
ing on  Frederic,  rowed  him  in  mighty  state  from  the  Lido  to  the 
capital.  The  emperor  descended  from  the  galley  at  the  quay  of 
the  Piazzetta.  The  doge,  the  patriarch,  his  bishops  and  clergy, 
and  the  people  of  Venice  with  their  crosses  and  their  standards, 
marched  in  solemn  procession  before  him  to  the  church  of  St. 
Mark.  Alexander  was  seated  before  the  vestibule  of  the  basilica, 
attended  by  his  bishops  and  cardinals,  by  the  patriarch  of  Aqui- 
leja,  by  the  archbishops  and  bishops  of  Lombardy,  all  of  them 
in  state,  and  clothed  in  their  church  robes.  Frederic  approached 
— "  moved  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  venerating  the  Almighty  in  the 
person  of  Alexander,  laying  aside  his  imperial  dignity,  and 
throwing  off  his  mantle,  he  prostrated  himself  at  full  length  at 
the  feet  of  the  pope.  Alexander,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  raised 
him  benignantly  from  the  ground,  kissed  him,  blessed  him ;  and 
immediately  the  Germans  of  the  train  sang,  with  a  loud  voice, 
'  We  praise  thee,  O  Lord.'  The  emperor  then  taking  the  pope 
by  the  right  hand,  led  him  to  the  church,  and  having  received 

*  "Quibus  auditis,  impr rator,  operante  eo,  qui  corda  principium  sicnt  vult  et 
quando  vult  huniiliter  inclinat,  leonina  feriiate  deposits,  ovinain  mansuetiidi- 
ncm  induit." — Romualdi  Salernitani  Chronicon,  apud  Script.  Her.  Hal.  tern, 
vii.  p.  22P . 


APPENDIX.  289 

his  benediction,  returned  to  the  ducal  palace."*  The  ceremony 
of  humiliation  was  repeated  the  next  day.  The  pope  himself, 
at  the  request  of  Frederic,  said  mass  at  St.  Mark's.  The  empe- 
ror again  laid  aside  his  imperial  mantle,  and,  taking  a  wand  in 
his  hand,  officiated  as  verger,  driving  the  laity  from  the  choir, 
and  preceding  the  pontiff  to  the  altar.  Alexander,  after  reciting 
the  gospel,  preached  to  the  people.  The  emperor  put  himself 
close  to  the  pulpit,  in  the  attitude  of  listening ;  and  the  pontiff, 
touched  by  this  mark  of  his  attention,  (for  he  knew  that  Frederic 
did  not  understand  a  word  he  said,)  commanded  the  patriarch  of 
Aquileja  to  translate  the  Latin  discourse  into  the  German  tongue. 
The  creed  was  then  chanted.  Frederic  made  his  oblation,  and 
kissed  the  pope's  feet,  and,  mass  being  over,  led  him  by  the 
hand  to  his  white  horse.  He  held  the  stirrup,  and  would  have 
led  the  horse's  rein  to  the  water  side,  had  not  the  pope  accepted 
of  the  inclination  for  the  performance,  and  affectionately  dismiss- 
ed him  with  his  benediction.  Such  is  the  substance  of  the  ac- 
count left  by  the  archbishop  of  Salerno,  who  was  present  at  the 
ceremony,  and  whose  story  is  confirmed  by  every  subsequent 
narration.  It  would  be  not  worth  so  minute  a  record,  were  it  not 
the  triumph  of  liberty  as  well  as  of  superstition.  The  states  of 
Lombardy  owed  to  it  the  confirmation  of  their  privileges ;  and 
Alexander  had  reason  to  thank  the  Almighty,  who  had  enabled 
an  infirm,  unarmed  old  man  to  subdue  a  terrible  and  potent  so- 
vereign. | 


No.  V. — HENRY  DANDOLO. 

"Oh,  for  one  hour  of  blind  old  Dandolo! 
Th?  octogenarian  chief,  Byzantium's  conquering  foe ."  Stanza  xii. 

The  reader  will  recollect  the  exclamation  of  the  highlander, 
Oh  for  one  hour  of  Dundee !  Henry  Dandolo,  when  elected  doge, 
in  1192,  was  eighty-five  years  of  age.  When  he  commanded  the 
Venetians  at  the  taking  of  Constantinople,  he  was  consequently 
ninety-seven  years  old.  At  this  age  he  annexed  the  fourth  and  a 
half  of  the  whole  empire  of  Romania,^:  for  so  the  Roman  empire 

*  Rer.  Ital.  torn.  vii.  p.  231. 

t  See  the  above-cited  Rorauald  of  Salerno.  In  a  second  sermon  which  Alex- 
ander preached,  on  the  first  day  of  August,  before  the  emperor,  he  compared  Fr»  • 
deric  tu  the  prodigal  son,  and  himself  to  the  forgiving  father. 

t  Mr.  Gibbon  has  omitted  the  important  a,  and  has  written  Romani  instead 
of  Romanise.  Decline  and  Fall,  chap.  Ixi.  note  9.  But  tile  title  acquired  by 

25 


290  APPENDIX. 

was  then  called,  to  the  title  and  to  the  territories  of  the  Venetian 
doge.  The  three-eighths  of  this  empire  were  preserved  in  the 
diplomas  until  the  dukedom  of  Giovanni  Dolfino,  who  made  use 
of  the  above  designation  in  the  year  1357.* 

Dandolo  led  the  attack  on  Constantinople  in  person  ;  two  ships, 
the  Paradise  and  the  Pilgrim,  were  tied  together,  and  a  drawbridge 
or  ladder  let  down  from  their  higher  yards  to  the  walls.  The 
doge  was  one  of  the  first  to  rush  into  the  city.  Then  was  com- 
pleted, said  the  Venetians,  the  prophecy  of  the  Erythraean  sibyl : — 
"  A  gathering  together  of  the  powerful  shall  be  made  amidst  the 
waves  of  the  Adriatic,  under  a  blind  leader ;  they  shall  beset  the 
goat — they  shall  profane  Byzantium — they  shall  blacken  her 
buildings — her  spoils  shall  be  dispersed  ;  a  new  goat  shall  bleat 
until  they  have  measured  out  and  run  over  fifty-four  feet,  nine 
inches  and  a  half."|  Dandolo  died  on  the  first  of  June,  1205, 
having  reigned  thirteen  years,  six  months  and  five  days,  and  was 
buried  in  the  church  of  St.  Sophia,  at  Constantinople.  Strangely 
enough  it  must  sound,  that  the  name  of  the  rebel  apothecary  who 
received  the  doge's  sword,  and  annihilated  the  ancient  govern- 
ment, in  1796-7,  was  Dandolo. 


No.  VI. — THE  WAR  OF  CHIOZA. 

"  But  is  not  Dorians  menace  come  to  pass  ; 
Are  they  not  bridled  ?" — Stanza  xiii. 

After  the  loss  of  the  battle  of  Pola,  and  the  taking  of  Chioza  on 
the  16th  of  August,  1379,  by  the  united  armament  of  the  Genoese 
and  Francesco  da  Carrara,  Signor  of  Padua,  the  Venetians  were 
reduced  to  the  utmost  despair.  An  embassy  was  sent  tothecon« 
querors  with  a  blank  sheet  of  paper,  praying  them  to  prescribe 
what  terms  they  pleased,  and  leave  to  Venice  only  her  independ- 

Dandolo  runs  thus  in  the  chronicle  of  his  namesake,  the  Doge  Andrew  Dandolo. 
"  Ducali  titulo  addidit,  '  Quartx  partis  et  dimidix  totius  imperil  Romania,'  " 
And.  Dand.  Chronicon,  cap.  iii.  pars  xxxvii.  ap.  Script.  Rer.  Ital.  torn.  xii.  page 
331.  And  the  Romania  is  observed  in  the  subsequent  acts  of  the  doges.  In- 
deed, the  continental  possessions  of  the  Greek  empire  in  Europe  were  then  ge- 
nerally known  by  the  name  of  Romania,  and  that  appellation  is  still  seen  in  the 
maps  of  Turkey  as  applied  to  Thrace. 

*  See  the  continuation  ofDandolo's  Chronicle,  ibid.  p.  498.  Mr.  Gibbon  ap 
pears  not  to  include  Dolfino,  following  Sanudo,  who  says,  "  il  qual  titolo  si  us6 
fin  al  Doge  Giovanni  Dolfino."  See  Vite  de'  Duchi  di  Venezia,  ap.  Script. 
Her.  Ital.  torn.  xxii.  530.  641. 

i  Chronicon,  ibid,  pars  xxxiv. 


APPENDIX.  291 

ence.  The  Prince  of  Padua  was  inclined  to  listen  to  these  pro. 
posals,  but  the  Genoese,  who,  after  the  victory  at  Pola,  had 
shouted,  "  To  Venice,  to  Venice,  and  long  live  St.  George !" 
determined  to  annihilate  their  rival ;  and  Peter  Doria,  their  com- 
mander-in-chief,  returned  this  answer  to  the  suppliants  :  "  On 
God's  faith,  gentlemen  of  Venice,  ye  shall  have  no  peace  from 
the  Signer  of  Padua,  nor  from  our  commune  of  Genoa,  until  we 
have  first  put  a  rein  upon  those  unbridled  horses  of  yours,  that 
are  upon  the  porch  of  your  evangelist  St.  Mark.  When  we 
have  bridled  them,  we  shall  keep  you  quiet.  And  this  is  the 
pleasure  of  us  and  of  our  commune.  As  for  these  my  brothers 
of  Genoa,  that  you  have  brought  with  you  to  give  up  to  us,  I 
will  not  have  them ;  take  them  back ;  for,  in  a  few  days  hence, 
I  shall  come  and  let  them  out  of  prison  myself,  both  these  and 
all  the  others."  In  fact,  the  Genoese  did  advance  as  far  as  Ma- 
lamocco,  within  five  miles  of  the  capital ;  but  their  own  danger 
and  the  pride  of  their  enemies  gave  courage  to  the  Venetians, 
who  made  prodigious  efforts,  and  many  individual  sacrifices,  all 
of  them  carefully  recorded  by  their  historians.  Vettor  Pisani 
was  put  at  the  head  of  thirty-four  galleys.  The  Genoese  broke 
up  from  Malamocco,  and  retired  to  Chioza  in  October;  but  they 
again  threatened  Venice,  which  was  reduced  to  extremities.  At 
this  time,  the  1st  of  January,  1380,  arrived  Carlo  Zeno,  who  had 
been  cruising  on  the  Genoese  coast  with  fourteen  galleys.  The 
Venetians  were  now  strong  enough  to  besiege  the  Genoese. 
Doria  was  killed  on  the  22d  of  January,  by  a  stone  bullet  195 
pounds  weight,  discharged  from  a  bombard  called  the  Trevisan. 
Chioza  was  then  closely  invested :  5000  auxiliaries,  amongst 
whom  were  some  English  condottieri,  commanded  by  one  Captain 
Ceccho,  joined  the  Venetians.  The  Genoese,  in  their  turn, 
prayed  for  conditions,  hut  none  were  granted,  until,  at  last,  they 
surrendered  at  discretion ;  and,  on  the  24th  of  June,  1380,  the 
Doge  Contarini  made  his  triumphal  entry  into  Chioza.  Four 
thousand  prisoners,  nineteen  galleys,  many  smaller  vessels  and 
barks,  with  all  the  ammunition  and  arms,  and  outfit  of  the  expe- 
dition, fell  into  the  hands  of  the  conquerors,  who,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  inexorable  answer  of  Doria,  would  have  gladly  reduced 
their  dominion  to  the  city  of  Venice.  An  account  of  these  trans- 
actions is  found  in  a  work  called  the  War  of  Chioza,  written  by 
Daniel  Chinazzo,  who  was  in  Venice  at  the  time. 


292  A  P  P  E  N  D  I X. 


No.  VII. — VENICE  UNDER  THE  GOVERNMENT  OF  AUSTRIA. 

"  Thin  streets,  and  foreign  aspects,  such  as  must 

Too  oft  remind  her  who  and  what  enthrals." — Stanza  xv. 

The  population  of  Venice  at  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury amounted  to  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  souls.  At  the 
iast  census,  taken  two  years  ago,  it  was  no  more  than  about  one 
hundred  and  three  thousand :  and  it  diminishes  daily.  The  com- 
merce and  the  official  employments,  which  were  to  be  the  unex- 
hausted source  of  Venetian  grandeur,  have  both  expired.  Most 
of  the  patrician  mansions  are  deserted,  and  would  gradually  dis- 
appear, had  not  the  government,  alarmed  by  the  demolition  of 
seventy-two,  during  the  last  two  years,  expressly  forbidden  this 
sad  resource  of  poverty.  Many  remnants  of  the  Venetian  nobility 
are  now  scattered  and  confounded  with  the  wealthier  Jews  upon 
the  banks  of  the  Brenta,  whose  Palladian  palaces  have  sunk,  or 
are  sinking,  in  the  general  decay.  Of  the  "  gentiluomo  Veneto," 
the  name  is  still  known,  and  that  is  all.  He  is  but  the  shadow 
of  his  former  self,  but  he  is  polite  and  kind.  It  surely  may  be 
pardoned  to  him  if  he  is  querulous.  Whatever  may  have  been 
the  vices  of  the  republic,  and  although  the  natural  term  of  its 
existence  may  be  thought  by  foreigners  to  have  arrived  in  the  due 
course  of  mortality,  only  one  sentiment  can  be  expected  from  the 
Venetians  themselves.  At  no  time  were  the  subjects  of  the  re- 
public so  unanimous  in  their  resolution  to  rally  round  the  stand- 
ard of  St.  Mark,  as  when  it  was  for  the  last  time  unfurled ;  and 
the  cowardice  and  the  treachery  of  the  few  patricians  who 
recommended  the  fatal  neutrality  were  confined  to  the  persons 
of  the  traitors  themselves.  The  present  race  cannot  be  thought 
to  regret  the  loss  of  their  aristocratical  forms  and  too  despotic 
government ;  they  think  only  on  their  vanished  independence. 
They  pine  away  at  the  remembrance,  and  on  this  subject  suspend 
for  a  moment  their  gay  good  humour.  Venice  may  be  said,  in 
the  words  of  the  Scripture,  "to  die  daily;"  and  so  general  and 
so  apparent  is  the  decline,  as  to  become  painful  to  a  stranger,  not 
reconciled  to  the  sight  of  a  whole  nation  expiring  as  it  were 
before  his  eyes.  So  artificial  a  creation,  having  lost  that  princi- 
ple which  called  it  into  life  and  supported  its  existence,  must 
fall  to  pieces  at  once,  and  sink  more  rapidly  than  it  rose.  The 
abhorrence  of  slavery  which  drove  the  Venetians  to  the  sea,  has, 
since  their  disaster,  forced  them  to  the  land,  where  they  may  be 


APPENDIX.  293 

at  least  overlooked  amongst  the  crowd  of  dependants,  and  not 
present  the  humiliating  spectacle  of  a  whole  nation  loaded  with 
recent  chains.  Their  liveliness,  their  affability,  and  that  happy 
indifference  which  constitution  alone  can  give,  (for  philosophy 
aspires  to  it  in  vain,)  have  not  sunk  under  circumstances ;  but 
many  peculiarities  of  costume  and  manner  have  by  degrees  been 
lost,  and  the  nobles,  with  a  pride  common  to  all  Italians  who 
have  been  masters,  have  not  been  persuaded  to  parade  their  in- 
significance. That  splendour  which  was  a  proof  and  a  portion 
of  their  power,  they  would  not  degrade  into  the  trappings  of 
their  subjection.  They  retired  from  the  space  which  they  had 
occupied  in  the  eyes  of  their  fellow-citizens ;  their  continuance 
in  which  would  have  been  a  symptom  of  acquiescence,  and  an 
insult  to  those  who  suffered  by  the  common  misfortune.  Those 
who  remained  in  the  degraded  capital  might  be  said  rather  to 
haunt  the  scenes  of  their  departed  power,  than  to  live  in  them. 
The  reflection,  "who  and  what  enthrals,"  will  hardly  bear  a 
comment  from  one  who  is,  nationally,  the  friend  and  the  ally  of 
the  conqueror.  It  may,  however,  be  allowed  to  say  thus  much, 
that  to  those  who  wish  to  recover  their  independence,  any  mas- 
ters must  be  an  object  of  detestation ;  and  it  may  be  safely  fore- 
told that  this  unprofitable  aversion  will  not  have  been  corrected 
before  Venice  shall  have  sunk  into  the  slime  of  her  choked 
canals. 


No.  VIII.— LAURA. 

"  Watering  the  tree  which  bears  his  lady's  name 
With  his  melodious  tears,  he  gave  himself  to  fame." 

Stanza  xxv. 

Thanks  to  the  critical  acumen  of  a  Scotchman,  we  now  know 
as  little  of  Laura  as  ever.*  The  discoveries  of  the  Abbe  de 
Sade,  his  triumphs,  his  sneers,  can  no  longer  instruct  or  amuse. 
We  must  not,  however,  think  that  these  memoirs  are  as  much  a 
romance  as  Belisarius  or  the  Incas,  although  we  are  told  so  by 
Dr.  Beattie,  a  great  name,  but  a  little  authority.f  His  "  labour" 
has  not  been  in  vain,  notwithstanding  his  "  love"  has,  like  most 


*  See  An  Historical  and  Critical  Essay  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  Petrarch, 
end  a  Dissertation  on  an  Historical  Hypothesis*  of  the  Abb£  de  Sade. 
I  Life  of  Beattie,  by  Sir  \V.  Forbep,  vol.  ii.  p.  100. 
25* 


2i»4  APPENDIX. 

other  passions,  made  him  ridiculous.*  The  hypothesis  which 
overpowered  the  struggling  Italians,  and  carried  along  less  in- 
terested critics  in  its  current,  is  run  out.  We  have  another  proof 
that  we  can  be  never  sure  that  the  paradox,  the  most  singular, 
and  therefore  having  the  most  agreeable  and  authentic  air,  will 
not  give  place  to  the  re-established  ancient  prejudice. 

It  seems,  then,  first,  that  Laura  was  born,  lived,  died,  and  was 
buried,  not  in  Avignon,  but  in  the  country.  The  fountains  of 
the  Sorga,  the  thickets  of  Cabrieres,  may  resume  their  preten- 
sions, and  the  exploded  de  la  Bastie  again  be  heard  with  compla- 
cency. The  hypothesis  of  the  Abbe  had  no  stronger  props  than 
tho  parchment  sonnet  and  medal  found  on  the  skeleton  of  the 
wife  of  Hugo  de  Sade,  and  the  manuscript  note  to  the  Virgil  of 
Petrarch,  now  in  the  Ambrosian  library.  If  these  proofs  were 
both  incontestable,  the  poetry  was  written,  the  medal  composed, 
cast,  and  deposited  within  the  space  of  twelve  hours  :  and  these 
deliberate  duties  were  performed  round  the  carcass  of  one  who 
died  of  the  plague,  and  was  hurried  to  the  grave  on  the  day  of 
her  death.  These  documents,  therefore,  are  too  decisive :  they 
prove  not  the  fact,  but  the  forgery.  Either  the  sonnet  or  the 
Virgilian  note  must  be  a  falsification.  The  Abbe  cites  both  as 
incontestably  true ;  the  consequent  deduction  is  inevitable — they 
are  both  evidently  false."]" 

Secondly,  Laura  was  never  married,  and  was  a  haughty  virgin 
rather  than  that  tender  and  prudent  wife  who  honoured  Avignon, 
by  making  that  town  the  theatre  of  an  honest  French  passion, 
and  played  off  for  one-and-twenty  years  her  little  machinery  of 
alternate  favours  and  refusals}:  upon  the  first  poet  of  the  age.  It 
was,  indeed,  rather  too  unfair  that  a  female  should  be  made  re- 
sponsible for  eleven  children  upon  the  faith  of  a  misinterpreted 
abbreviation,  and  the  decision  of  a  librarian.^  It  is,  however, 


*  Mr.  Gibbon  called  his  Memoirs  "a  labour  of  love,"  (see  Decline  and  Fall, 
chap.  Ixx.  note  1,)  and  followed  him  with  confidence  and  delight.  The  com- 
piler of  a  very  voluminous  work  must  take  much  criticism  upon  trust.  Mr. 
Gibbon  has  done  so,  though  not  as  readily  as  some  other  authors. 

t  The  sonnet  bad  before  awakened  the  suspicions  of  Mr.  Horace  Walpole. 
See  his  letter  to  Warton  in  1763. 

t"Par  ce  petit  manege,  cette  alternative  de  faveurs  et  de  rigueurs  bien 
niunagoe,  une  femme  tendre  et  sage  amuse,  pendant  vingt  et  un  ana,  le  plus 
grand  pogte  de  son  siecle,  sans  faire  la  moindre  brfcche  &  son  honneur." 
Mem.  pour  la  Vie  de  Pe'trarque,  Preface  aux  Francais. 

$  In  a  dialogue  with  St.  \ugustin,  Petrarch  has  described  Laura  as  having  a 
body  exhausted  with  repeated  ptubs.  The  old  editors  read  and  printed  pertur- 
bationibu-s :  but  M.  Capperonier,  librarian  to  the  French  king  in  1762,  who  saw 
the  MS.  in  the  Paris  library,  made  an  attestation  that  "  on  lit  et  qu'on  doit  lire, 


APPENDIX.  295 

satisfactory  to  think  that  the  love  of  Petrarch  was  not  platonic. 
The  happiness  which  he  prayed  to  possess  but  once  and  for  a 
moment  was  surely  not  of  the  mind,*  and  something  so  very 
real  as  a  marriage  project,  with  one  who  has  been  idly  called  a 
shadowy  nymph,  may  be,  perhaps,  detected  in  at  least  six 
places  of  his  own  sonnets.  The  love  of  Petrarch  was  neither 
platonic  nor  poetical :  and  if  in  one  passage  of  his  works  he 
calls  it  "  amore  veementeissimo  ma  unico  ed  onesto,"  he  con- 
fesses, in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  that  it  was  guilty  and  perverse,  that 
it  absorbed  him  quite,  and  mastered  his  heart. 

In  this  case,  however,  he  was  perhaps  alarmed  for  the  culpa- 
bility of  his  wishes ;  for  the  Abbe  de  Sade  himself,  who  certainly 
would  not  have  been  scrupulously  delicate  if  he  could  have 
proved  his  descent  from  Petrarch  as  well  as  Laura,  is  forced  into 
a  stout  defence  of  his  virtuous  grandmother.  As  far  as  relates 
to  the  poet,  we  have  no  security  for  the  innocence,  except  per- 
haps in  the  constancy  of  his  pursuit.  He  assures  us  in  his 
epistle  to  posterity,  that,  when  arrived  at  his  fortieth  year,  he 
not  only  had  in  horror,  but  had  lost  all  recollection  and  image  of 
any  "  irregularity."  But  the  birth  of  his  natural  daughter  can- 
not be  assigned  earlier  than  his  thirty-ninth  year ;  and  either  the 
memory  or  the  morality  of  the  poet  must  have  failed  him,  when 
he  forgot  or  was  guilty  of  this  slip.\  The  weakest  argument  for 
the  purity  of  this  love  has  been  drawn  from  the  permanence  of 
its  effects,  which  survived  the  object  of  his  passion.  The  re- 
flection of  M.  de  la  Bastie,  that  virtue  alone  is  capable  of  mak- 
ing impressions  which  death  cannot  efface,  is  one  of  those  which 
everybody  applauds,  and  everybody  finds  not  to  be  true,  the 
moment  he  examines  his  own  breast  or  the  records  of  human 
feeling.:}:  Such  apophthegms  can  do  nothing  for  Petrarch  or  for 
the  cause  of  morality,  except  with  the  very  weak  and  the  very 


partnbus  exhaustum."  De  Sade  joined  the  names  of  Messrs. Boudot  and  Bejot 
with  M.  Capperonier,  and,  in  the  whole  discussion  on  this  ptubs,  showed  him- 
self a  downright  literary  rogue.  See  Riflessioni,  &c.  p.  367.  Thomas  Aquinas 
is  called  in  to  settle  whether  Petrarch's  mistress  was  a  chaste  maid  or  a  cun- 
tinfnl  wife. 

"Pigmalion,  quanto  lodar  ti  dei 
Dell'  imagine  tua,  se  mille  volte 
N'  avesti  quel  ch'  i'  sol  una  vorrei." 

Sonetto  58.  quando  giunse  a  Simon  Valto  concetto. 
Le  Rime,  &c.  par.  i.  pag.  189.  edit.  Ven.  1756. 

t  "  A  questa  confessione  cosi  sincera  diede  torse  occasione  una  nuova  caduta 
eh"  ei  fece."    Tiraboschi,  Storia,  tc.  v.  492. 

t  M.  de  Bimard,  Baron  de  la  Bastie,  in  the  Memoircs  de  1'Academie  des  In- 
scriptions et  Belles  Lettres  for  1740  and  1751.    See  also  Riflessioni,  &c.  p  295 


296  APPENDIX. 

young.  He  that  has  made  even  a  little  progress  beyond  igno 
ranee  and  pupillage  cannot  be  edified  with  any  thing  but  truth. 
What  is  called  vindicating  the  honour  of  an  individual  or  a  na- 
tion, is  the  most  futile,  tedious,  and  uninstructive  of  all  writing ; 
although  it  will  always  meet  with  more  applause  than  that  sober 
criticism,  which  is  attributed  to  the  malicious  desire  of  reducing 
=i  great  man  to  the  common  standard  of  humanity.  It  is,  after 
ill,  not  unlikely  that  our  historian  was  right  in  retaining  his 
favourite  hypothetic  salvo,  which  secures  the  author,  although 
it  scarcely  saves  the  honour  of  the  still  unknown  mistress  of 
Petrarch.* 


No.  IX. — PETRARCH. 
"  They  keep  his  dust  in  Jlrqud,  where  he  died." — Stanza  xxxi. 

Petrarch  retired  to  Arqua  immediately  on  his  return  from  the 
unsuccessful  attempt  to  visit  Urban  V.  at  Rome,  in  the  year  1370, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  his  celebrated  visit  to  Venice  in  com- 
pany with  Francesco  Novello  da  Carrara,  he  appears  to  have 
passed  the  four  last  years  of  his  life  between  that  charming  soli- 
tude and  Padua.  For  four  months  previous  to  his  death  he  was 
in  a  state  of  continual  languor,  and  in  the  morning  of  July  the 
19th,  in  the  year  1374,  was  found  dead  in  his  library  chair  with 
his  head  resting  upon  a  book.  The  chair  is  still  shown  amongst 
the  precious  relics  of  Arqua,  which,  from  the  uninterrupted  ve- 
neration that  has  been  attached  to  every  thing  relative  to  this 
great  man  from  the  moment  of  his  death  to  the  present  hour, 
have,  it  may  be  hoped,  a  better  chance  of  authenticity  than  the 
Shakspearian  memorials  of  Stratford-upon-Avon. 

Arqua  (for  the  last  syllable  is  accented  in  pronunciation, 
although  the  analogy  of  the  English  language  has  been  observed 
in  the  verse)  is  twelve  miles  from  Padua,  and  about  three  miles 
on  the  right  of  the  high  road  to  Rovigo,  in  the  bosom  of  the  Eu- 
ganean  hills.  After  a  walk  of  twenty  minutes  across  a  flat  well- 
wooded  meadow,  you  come  to  a  little  blue  lake,  clear  but  fathom- 
less, and  to  the  foot  of  a  succession  of  acclivities  and  hills, 
clothed  with  vineyards  and  orchards,  rich  with  fir  and  pome- 
granate trees,  and  every  sunny  fruit  shrub.  From  the  banks  of 


*  "And  if  the  virtue  or  prudence  of  Laura  was  inexorable,  he  enjoyed,  ana 
might  boast  of  enjoying,  the  nymph  of  poetry." — Decline  and  Fall,  chap.  Ixx 
p.  327.  vol.  xii.  8vo.  Perhaps  the  if  is  here  meant  for  although. 


APPENDIX.  297 

the  lake  the  road  winds  into  the  hills,  and  the  church  of  Arqua 
is  soon  seen  between  a  cleft  where  two  ridges  slope  towards  each 
other,  and  nearly  enclose  the  village.  The  houses  are  scattered 
at  intervals  on  the  steep  sides  of  these  summits  ;  and  that  of  the 
poet  is  on  the  edge  of  a  little  knoll  overlooking  two  descents, 
and  commanding  a  view,  not  only  of  the  glowing  gardens  in  the 
dales  immediately  beneath,  but  of  the  wide  plains,  above  whose 
low  woods  of  mulberry  and  willow,  thickened  into  a  dark  mass 
by  festoons  of  vines,  tall,  single  cypresses,  and  the  spires  of 
towns,  are  seen  in  the  distance,  which  stretches  to  the  mouths 
of  the  Po  and  the  shores  of  the  Adriatic.  The  climate  of  these 
volcanic  hills  is  warmer,  and  the  vintage  begins  a  week  sooner 
than  in  the  plains  of  Padua.  Petrarch  is  laid,  for  he  cannot  be 
said  to  be  buried,  in  a  sarcophagus  of  red  marble,  raised  on  four 
pilasters  on  an  elevated  base,  and  preserved  from  an  association 
with  meaner  tombs.  It  stands  conspicuously  alone,  but  will  be 
soon  overshadowed  by  four  lately  planted  laurels.  Petrarch's 
Fountain,  for  here  every  thing  is  Petrarch's,  springs  and  expands 
itself  beneath  an  artificial  arch,  a  little  below  the  church,  and 
abounds  plentifully,  in  the  driest  season,  with  that  soft  water 
which  was  the  ancient  wealth  of  the  Euganean  hills.  It  would 
be  more  attractive,  were  it  not,  in  some  seasons,  beset  with  hor- 
nets and  wasps.  No  other  coincidence  could  assimilate  the 
tombs  of  Petrarch  and  Archilochus.  The  revolutions  of  centu- 
ries have  spared  these  sequestered  valleys,  and  the  only  violence 
which  has  been  offered  to  the  ashes  of  Petrarch  was  prompted, 
not  by  hate,  but  veneration.  An  attempt  was  made  to  rob  the 
sarcophagus  of  its  treasure,  and  one  of  the  arms  was  stolen  by  a 
Florentine  through  a  rent  which  is  still  visible.  The  injury  is 
not  forgotten,  but  has  served  to  identify  the  poet  with  the  country 
where  he  was  born,  but  where  he  would  not  live.  A  peasant  boy 
of  Arqua  being  asked  who  Petrarch  was,  replied,  "  that  the  people 
of  the  parsonage  knew  all  about  him,  but  that  he  only  knew  that 
he  was  a  Florentine." 

Mr.  Forsyth*  was  not  quite  correct  in  saying  that  Petrarch 
never  returned  to  Tuscany  after  he  had  once  quitted  it  when  a 
boy.  It  appears  he  did  pass  through  Florence  on  his  way 
from  Parma  to  Rome,  and  on  his  return  in  the  year  1350,  and 
remained  there  long  enough  to  form  some  acquaintance  with 
its  most  distinguished  inhabitants.  A  Florentine  gentleman, 
ashamed  of  the  aversion  of  the  poet  for  his  native  country,  was 


*  Remarks,  &c.  on  Italy,  p.  95,  note,  2d  edit. 


298  APPENDIX. 

eager  to  point  out  this  trivial  error  in  our  accomplished  traveller, 
whom  he  knew  and  respected  for  an  extraordinary  capacity, 
extensive  erudition,  and  refined  taste,  joined  to  that  engaging 
simplicity  of  manners  which  has  been  so  frequently  recognised 
as  the  surest,  though  it  is  certainly  not  an  indispensable  trait  of 
superior  genius. 

Every  footstep  of  Laura's  lover  has  been  anxiously  traced  and 
recorded.  The  house  in  which  he  lodged  is  shown  in  Venice. 
The  inhabitants  of  Arezzo,  in  order  to  decide  the  ancient  contro- 
versy between  their  city  and  the  neighbouring  Ancisa,  where 
Petrarch  was  carried  when  seven  months  old,  and  remained  until 
his  seventh  year,  have  designated  by  a  long  inscription  the  spot 
where  their  great  fellow-citizen  was  born.  A  tablet  has  been 
raised  to  him  at  Parma,  in  the  chapel  of  St.  Agatha,  at  the 
cathedral,  because  he  was  archdeacon  of  that  society,  and  was 
only  snatched  from  his  intended  sepulture  in  their  church  by  a 
foreign  death.  Another  tablet,  with  a  bust,  has  been  erected  to 
him  at  Pavia,  on  account  of  his  having  passed  the  autumn  of 
1368  in  that  city,  with  his  son-in-law  Brossano.  The  political 
condition  which  has  for  ages  precluded  the  Italians  from  the  cri- 
ticism of  the  living,  has  concentrated  their  attention  to  the  illus- 
tration of  the  dead. 


No.  X — TASSO. 

"  In  face  of  all  his  foes,  the  Cruscan  quire  ? 
And  Soileau,  whose  rash  envy,"  $rc. — Stanza  xxxviii. 

Perhaps  the  couplet  in  which  Boileau  depreciates  Tasso  may 
serve  as  well  as  any  other  specimen  to  justify  the  opinion  given 
of  the  harmony  of  French  verse : — 

"  A  Malherbe,  k  Racan,  prefere  Theophile, 
Et  le  clinquant  du  Tasse  &  tout  1'or  de  Virgile." — Sat.  ix. 

The  biographer  Serassi,*  out  of  tenderness  to  the  reputation 
either  of  the  Italian  or  the  French  poet,  is  eager  to  observe  that 
the  satirist  recanted  or  explained  away  this  censure,  and  subse- 
quently allowed  the  author  of  the  Jerusalem  to  be  a  "  genius, 
sublime,  vast,  and  happily  born  for  the  higher  nights  of  poetry." 
To  this  we  will  add,  that  the  recantation  is  far  from  satisfactory. 


*  La  Vita  del  Tasgo,  lib.  iii. 


APPENDIX.  M) 

•when  we  examine  the  whole  anecdote  as  reported  by  Olivet.* 
The  sentence  pronounced  against  him  by  Bohoursf  is  recorded 
only  to  the  confusion  of  the  critic,  whose  palinodia  the  Italian 
makes  no  effort  to  discover,  and  would  not,  perhaps,  accept.  As 
to  the  opposition  which  the  Jerusalem  encountered  from  the 
Cruscan  academy,  who  degraded  Tasso  from  all  competition  with 
Ariosto,  below  Bojardo  and  Pulci,  the  disgrace  of  such  opposition 
must  also  in  some  measure  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  Alfonso,  and 
the  court  of  Ferrara.  For  Leonard  Salviati,  the  principal  and 
nearly  the  sole  origin  of  this  attack,  was,  there  can  be  no  doubt,^: 
influenced  by  a  hope  to  acquire  the  favour  of  the  House  of  Este : 
an  object  which  he  thought  attainable  by  exalting  the  reputation 
of  a  native  poet  at  the  expense  of  a  rival,  then  a.  prisoner  of  state. 
The  hopes  and  efforts  of  Salviati  must  serve  to  show  the  contem- 
porary opinion  as  to  the  nature  of  the  poet's  imprisonment;  and 
will  fill  up  the  measure  of  our  indignation  at  the  tyrant  jailer.§ 
In  fact,  the  antagonist  of  Tasso  was  not  disappointed  in  the 
reception  given  to  his  criticism;  he  was  called  to  the  court  of 
Ferrara,  where,  having  endeavoured  to  heighten  his  claims  to 
favour,  by  panegyrics  on  the  family  of  his  sovereign, ||  he  was  in 
turn  abandoned,  and  expired  in  neglected  poverty.  The  opposi- 
tion of  the  Cruscans  was  brought  to  a  close  in  six  years  after  the 
commencement  of  the  controversy ;  and  if  the  academy  owed  its 
first  renown  to  having  almost  opened  with  such  a  paradox,^"  it 
is  probable  that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  care  of  his  reputation 
alleviated  rather  than  aggravated  the  imprisonment  of  the  injured 


*  Ilistoire  de  l'Acad£mie  Franchise  depuis  1652  jusqu'a.  1700,  par  I'Abb6 
d'OHvet.  "  Mais,  ensuite,  venant  4  1'usage  qu'il  a  fait  de  ses  talens,  j'aurais 
montre"  que  le  bon  sens  n'est  pas  toujours  ce  qui  domine  chez  lui,"  p.  182. 
Boileau  said,  he  had  not  changed  his  opinion.  "  J'en  ai  si  peu  change,  dit-il," 
&c.  p.  181. 

t  La  Maniere  de  bien  Penser.  Philanthes  is  for  TBFSO,  and  says  in  the  out- 
set, "  De  tous  les  beaux  esprits  que  I'ltalie  a  portes,  le  Tasse  est  peut-etre  celui 
qui  pense  le  plus  nobleinent."  But  Bohours  seems  to  speak  in  Eudoxus,  who 
closes  with  the  absurd  comparison ;  "  Faites  valoir  le  Tasse  tant  qu'il  voul 
plaira,  je  m'en  tiens  pour  moi  a  Virgile,"  &c. 

J  La  Vita,  &c.  lib.  iii.  p.  90,  torn.  ii.  The  English  reader  may  see  an  account 
of  the  opposition  of  the  Crusca  to  Tasso,  in  Dr.  Black,  Life,  &c.  chap.  xvii. 
vol.  ii. 

}  For  a  further,  and  it  is  hoped,  decisive  proof,  that  Tasso  was  neither  more 
nor  less  than  a  prisoner  of  state,  the  reader  is  referred  to  "  Historical  Illustra- 
tions of  the  IVlh  Canto  of  Childe  Harold,"  page  5,  and  following. 

A  Orazioni  funebri  .  .  .  delle  lodi  di  Don  Luigi,  Cardinal  d'Este  .  .  .  delle 
oili  di  Donno  Alfonso  d'  Este.  See  La  Vita,  lib.  iii.  p.  117. 

TJ  It  was  founded  in  1582,  and  the  Cruscan  answer  to  Pelleprino's  Caraffa,  01 
tpica  poesi^,  was  publUbed  in  1584. 


300  APPENDIX. 

poet.  The  defence  of  his  father  and  of  himself,  for  both  were 
involved  in  the  censure  of  Salviati,  found  employment  for  many 
of  his  solitary  hours,  and  the  captive  could  have  heen  but  little 
embarrassed  to  reply  to  accusations,  where,  amongst  other  delin- 
quencies, he  was  charged  with  invidiously  omitting,  in  his  com- 
parison between  France  and  Italy,  to  make  any  mention  of  the 
cupola  of  St.  Maria  del  Fiore  at  Florence.*  The  late  b'ographer 
of  Ariosto  seems  as  if  willing  to  renew  the  controversy  by  doubt- 
ing the  interpretation  of  Tasso's  self-estimationj"  related  in 
Serassi's  life  of  the  poet.  But  Tiraboschi  had  before  laid  that 
rivalry  at  rest,^:  by  showing,  that  between  Ariosto  and  Tasso  it 
is  not  a  question  of  comparison,  but  of  preference. 


No.  XI. — ARIOSTO. 

"  The  lightning  rent  from  Jlriosto's  bust 
The  iron  crown  of  laurePs  mimicked  leaves."-—  Stanza  xli. 

Before  the  remains  of  Ariosto  were  removed  from  the  Benedic- 
tine church  to  the  library  of  Ferrara,  his  bust,  which  surmounted 
the  tomb,  was  struck  by  lightning,  and  a  crown  of  iron  laurels 
melted  away.  The  event  has  been  recorded  by  a  writer  of  the 
last  century.§  The  transfer  of  these  sacred  ashes,  on  the  6th  of 
June,  1801,  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  spectacles  of  the  short- 
lived Italian  Republic ;  and  to  consecrate  the  memory  of  the 
ceremony,  the  once  famous  fallen  Intrepidi  were  revived  and  re- 
formed into  the  Ariostean  academy.  The  large  public  place 
through  which  the  procession  paraded  was  then  for  the  first  time 
called  Ariosto  Square.  The  author  of  the  Orlando  is  jealously 
claimed  as  the  Homer,  not  of  Italy,  but  Ferrara.||  The  mother 
of  Ariosto  was  of  Reggio,  and  the  house  in  which  he  was  born 
is  carefully  distinguished  by  a  tablet  with  these  words :  "  Qui 
nacque  Ludovico  Ariosto  il  giorno  8.  di  Settembre  dell'  anno 


•  "  Cotanto  pote  sempre  In  lui  il  veleno  dclla  sna  pessima  volontacontro  alia 
nazion  Fiorentina."  La  Vita,  lib.  iii.  pp.  96.  96.  torn.  ii. 

t  La  Vita  di  M.  L.  Ariocto,  scritta  dull'  Abate  Girolamo  Baruffaldi  Giuniore, 
&c.  Ferrara,  1807,  lib.  iii.  p.  202.  See  "  Historical  Illustrations,"  &.c.  p.  26. 

t  Storia  delta  Lett.  &c.  lib.  iii.  torn.  vii.  par.  iii.  p.  1220.  sect.  4. 

£  Op.  di  Bianconi,  vol.  iii.  p.  176,  ed.  Milano,  1802;  lettera  al  Signor  Guido 
Savini  Arcifisiocritico,  still'  indole  di  1111  fulmiue  caduto  in  Dresda  1'anno  1759. 

il  "  Appassionata  ammirittore  ed  invitto  apologista  dell'  Omera  Ferrarese  " 
The  title  was  first  given  l>j'  Ta?so.  and  is  quoted  to  the  confusion  of  the  Tassisti, 
lib.  iii.  pp.  2tt2.  265.  La  Vita  di  M.  L.  Ariosto,  &c. 


APPENDIX.  301 

1474."  But  the  Ferrarese  make  light  of  the  accident  by  which 
their  poet  was  born  abroad,  and  claim  him  exclusively  for  their 
own.  They  possess  his  bones,  they  show  his  arm-chair,  and 
his  inkstand,  and  his  autographs. 

" Hie  illius  arma, 

Hie  currus  fuit " 

The  house  where  he  lived,  the  room  where  he  died,  are  desig- 
nated by  his  own  replaced  memorial,*  and  by  a  recent  inscrip- 
tion. The  Ferrarese  are  more  jealous  of  their  claims  since  the 
animosity  of  Denina,  arising  from  a  cause  which  their  apologists 
mysteriously  hint  is  not  unknown  to  them,  ventured  to  degrade 
their  soil  and  climate  to  a  Boeotian  incapacity  for  all  spiritual 
productions.  A  quarto  volume  has  been  called  forth  by  the  de- 
traction, and  this  supplement  to  Barotti's  Memoirs  of  the  illus- 
trious Ferrarese  has  been  considered  a  triumphant  reply  to  the 
"  Quadro  Storico  Statistico  dell'  Alta  Italia." 


No.  XII. — ANCIENT  SUPERSTITIONS  RESPECTING  LIGHTNING. 

"  For  the  true  laurel-wreath  which  glory  weaves 
Is  of  the  tree  no  bolt  of  thunder  cleaves." — Stanza  xli. 

The  eagle,  the  sea  calf,  the  laurel,  and  the  white  vine,  were 
amongst  the  most  approved  preservatives  against  lightning: 
Jupiter  chose  the  first,  Augustus  Caesar  the  second,  and  Tibe- 
rius never  failed  to  wear  a  wreath  of  the  third  when  the  sky 
threatened  a  thunder-storm. f  These  superstitions  may  be  re- 
ceived without  a  sneer  in  a  country  where  the  magical  proper- 
ties of  the  hazel  twig  have  not  lost  all  their  credit ;  and  perhaps 
the  reader  may  not  be  much  surprised  to  find  that  a  commentator 
on  Suetonius  has  taken  upon  himself  gravely  to  disprove  the 
imputed  virtues  of  the  crown  of  Tiberius,  by  mentioning  that  a 
few  years  before  he  wrote  a  laurel  was  actually  struck  by  light- 
ning at  Rome.^: 


*  "  Parva  sed  apta  mihi,  sed  nulli  obnoxia,  sed  non 

Sordida,  parta  meo  sed  tamen  sere  doraus." 

f  Plin.  Nat.  Hist,  lib.  ii.  cap.  55     Columella,  lib.  x.    Sueton.  in  Vit.  August. 
rap.  xc.  et  in  Vit.  Tiberii,  rap.  l.iix. 
t  Note  2,  p.  40U,  edit.  l,ugd.  Bat.  1667. 


303  APPENDIX. 

No.  XIII. 
"Know  that  the  lightning  sanctifies  below" — Stanza  xli. 

The  Curtian  lake  and  the  Ruminal  fig-tree  in  the  Forum,  hav- 
ing been  touched  by  lightning,  were  held  sacred,  and  the  memo- 
ry of  the  accident  was  preserved  by  aputeal,  or  altar  resembling 
the  mouth  of  a  well,  with  a  little  chapel  covering  the  cavity  sup- 
posed to  be  made  by  the  thunderbolt.  Bodies  scathed  and  per- 
sons struck  dead  were  thought  to  be  incorruptible  ;*  and  a  stroke 
not  fatal  conferred  perpetual  dignity  upon  the  man  so  distin- 
guished by  Heaven.f 

Those  killed  by  lightning  were  wrapped  in  a  white  garment, 
and  buried  where  they  fell.  The  superstition  was  not  confined 
to  the  worshippers  of  Jupiter:  the  Lombards  believed  in  the 
omens  furnished  by  lightning;  and  a  Christian  priest  confesses 
that,  by  a  diabolical  skill  in  interpreting  thunder,  a  seer  foretold 
to  Agilulf,  duke  of  Turin,  an  event  which  came  to  pass,  and 
gave  him  a  queen  and  a  crown.}:  There  was,  however,  some- 
thing equivocal  in  this  sign,  which  the  ancient  inhabitants  of 
Rome  did  not  always  consider  propitious;  and  as  the  fears  are 
likely  to  last  longer  than  the  consolations  of  superstition,  it  is 
not  strange  that  the  Romans  of  the  age  of  Leo  X.  should  have 
been  so  much  terrified  at  some  misinterpreted  storms  as  to  re- 
quire the  exhortations  of  a  scholar,  who  arrayed  all  the  learning 
on  thunder  and  lightning  to  prove  the  omen  favourable;  begin- 
ning with  the  flash  which  struck  the  walls  of  Velitrae,  and  in- 
cluding that  which  played  upon  a  gate  at  Florence,  and  foretold 
the  pontificate  of  one  of  its  citizens.§ 


No.  XIV. — THE  VENUS  OF  MEDICIS. 
"  There,  too,  the  goddess  loves  in  stone." — Stanza  xlix. 

The  view  of  the  Venus  of  Medicis  instantly  suggests  the  lines 
in  the  Seasons,  and  the  comparison  of  the  object  with  the  descrip- 


*  Vid.  J.  C.  Bullenger,  de  Terrs  Motii  et  Fulminib.  lib.  v.  cap.  xi. 

t  OMcif  KcpavvuOns  art^s  iari,  oQsv  na\  wj  Seuj  ri/«zrai.  Plut.  Sympos. 
vid.  J.  C.  Rulleng.  ut  sup. 

t  Pauli  Diaconi  de  Gestis  Langobard.  lib.  iii.  cap.  xiv. 

Jl  P.  Valerian!  de  fulminu m  significationibus  declamatio,  ap.  Orav.  Antiq. 
Rom.  torn.  v.  p.  593.  The  declamation  is  addressed  to  Julian  of  Medicis. 


APPENDIX.  303 

tion  proves,  not  only  the  correctness  of  the  portrait,  but  the  pe- 
culiar turn  of  thought,  and,  if  the  term  may  be  used,  the  sexual 
imagination  of  the  descriptive  poet.  The  same  conclusion  may 
be  deduced  from  another  hint  in  the  same  episode  of  Musidora ; 
for  Thomson's  notion  of  the  privileges  of  favoured  love  must 
have  been  either  very  primitive,  or  rather  deficient  in  delicacy, 
when  he  made  his  grateful  nymph  inform  her  discreet  Damon 
that  in  some  happier  moment  he  might  perhaps  be  the  companion 
of  her  bath  : — 

"The  time  may  come  you  need  not  fly." 

The  reader  will  recollect  the  anecdote  told  in  the  Life  of  Dr. 
Johnson.  We  will  not  leave  the  Florentine  gallery  without  a 
word  on  the  Whetter.  It  seems  strange  that  the  character  of  that 
disputed  statue  should  not  be  entirely  decided,  at  least  in  the 
mind  of  any  one  who  has  seen  a  sarcophagus  in  the  vestibule  of 
the  Basilica  of  St.  Paul  without  the  walls,  at  Rome,  where  the 
whole  group  of  the  fable  of  Marsyas  is  seen  in  tolerable  preser- 
vation ;  and  the  Scythian  slave  whetting  the  knife  is  represented 
exactly  in  the  same  position  as  this  celebrated  masterpiece.  The 
slave  is  not  naked ;  but  it  is  easier  to  get  rid  of  this  difficulty 
than  to  suppose  the  knife  in  the  hand  of  the  Florentine  statue  an 
instrument  for  shaving,  which  it  must  be,  if,  as  Lanzi  supposes, 
the  man  is  no  other  than  the  barber  of  Julius  Caesar.  Winkel- 
mann,  illustrating  a  bas-relief  of  the  same  subject,  follows  the 
opinion  of  Leonard  Agostini,  and  his  authority  might  have  been 
thought  conclusive,  even  if  the  resemblance  did  not  strike  the 
most  careless  observer.*  Amongst  the  bronzes  of  the  same 
princely  collection  is  still  to  be  seen  the  inscribed  tablet  copied 
and  commented  upon  by  Mr.  Gibbon.f  Our  historian  found 
some  difficulties,  but  did  not  desist  from  his  illustration :  he 
might  be  vexed  to  hear  that  his  criticism  has  been  thrown  away 
on  an  inscription  now  generally  recognised  to  be  a  forgery. 


No.  XV. — MADAME  DE  STAEL. 
"  In  Santa  Grace's  holy  precincts  lie." — Stanza  liv. 

This  name  will  recall  the  memory,  not  only  of  those  whose 
tombs  have  raised  the  Santa  Croce  into  the  centre  of  pilgrimage, 


*  See  Mnnim.  Ant.  Ined.  par.  i.  cap.  zvii.  n.  xlii.  pag.  50;  and  Storia  dell' 
Arii.  Ac.  lib.  xi.  cap.  i.  torn.  ii.  pag.  314,  not.  B. 
t  Notnina  gentesque  Antique  Italiz,  p.  201,  edit,  oct. 


304  APPENDIX. 

the  Mecca  of  Italy,  but  of  her  whose  eloquence  was  poured  over 
the  illustrious  ashes,  and  whose  voice  is  now  as  mute  as  those 
she  sung.  CORINNA  is  no  more  ;  and  with  her  should  expire  the 
fear,  the  flattery,  and  the  envy,  which  threw  too  dazzling  or  too 
dark  a  cloud  round  the  march  of  genius,  and  forbade  the  steady 
gaze  of  disinterested  criticism.  We  have  her  picture  embel- 
lished or  distorted,  as  friendship  or  detraction  has  held  the  pen- 
cil :  the  impartial  portrait  was  hardly  to  be  expected  from  a  con- 
temporary. The  immediate  voice  of  her  survivors  will,  it  is 
probable,  be  far  from  affording  a  just  estimate  of  her  singular 
capacity.  The  gallantry,  the  love  of  wonder,  and  the  hope  of 
associated  fame,  which  blunted  the  edge  of  censure,  must  cease 
to  exist. — The  dead  have  no  sex ;  they  can  surprise  by  no  new 
miracles ;  they  can  confer  no  privilege :  Corinna  has  ceased  to 
be  a  woman — she  is  only  an  author:  and  it  may  be  foreseen  that 
many  will  repay  themselves  for  former  complaisance,  by  a  seve- 
rity to  which  the  extravagance  of  previous  praises  may  perhaps 
give  the  colour  of  truth.  The  latest  posterity,  for  to  the  latest 
posterity  they  will  assuredly  descend,  will  have  to  pronounce 
upon  her  various  productions;  and  the  longer  the  vista  through 
which  they  are  seen,  the  more  accurately  minute  will  be  the  ob- 
ject, the  more  certain  the  justice,  of  the  decision.  She  will 
enter  into  that  existence  in  which  the  great  writers  of  all  ages 
and  nations  are,  as  it  were,  associated  in  a  world  of  their  own, 
and,  from  that  superior  sphere,  shed  their  eternal  influence  for 
the  control  and  consolation  of  mankind.  But  the  individual  will 
gradually  disappear  as  the  author  is  more  distinctly  seen  :  some 
one,  therefore,  of  all  those  whom  the  charms  of  involuntary  wit, 
and  of  easy  hospitality,  attracted  within  the  friendly  circles  of 
Coppet,  should  rescue  from  oblivion  those  virtues  which,  al- 
though they  are  said  to  love  the  shade,  are,  in  fact,  more  fre- 
quently chilled  than  excited  by  the  domestic  cares  of  private  life. 
Some  one  should  be  found  to  portray  the  unaffected  graces  with 
which  she  adorned  those  dearer  relationships,  the  performance 
of  whose  duties  is  rather  discovered  amongst  the  interior  secrets, 
than  seen  in  the  outward  management,  of  family  intercourse ; 
and  which,  indeed,  it  requires  the  delicacy  of  genuine  affection 
to  qualify  for  the  eye  of  an  indifferent  spectator.  Some  one 
should  be  found,  not  to  celebrate,  but  to  describe,  the  amiable 
mistress  of  an  open  mansion,  the  centre  of  a  society,  ever  va- 
ried, and  always  pleased,  the  creator  of  which,  divested  of  the 
ambition  and  the  arts  of  public  rivalry,  shone  forth  only  to  give 
fresh  animation  to  those  around  her.  The  mother  tenderly  affec- 


APPENDIX.  305 

tionate  and  tenderly  beloved,  the  friend  unboundedly  generous, 
but  still  esteemed,  the  charitable  patroness  of  all  distress,  can- 
not be  forgotten  by  those  whom  she  cherished,  and  protected, 
and  fed.  Her  loss  will  be  mourned  the  most  where  she  was 
known  the  best;  and,  to  the  sorrows  of  very  many  friends,  and 
more  dependants,  may  be  offered  the  disinterested  regret  of  a 
stranger,  who,  amidst  the  sublimer  scenes  of  the  Leman  lake, 
received  his  chief  satisfaction  from  contemplating  the  engaging 
qualities  of  the  incomparable  Corinna. 


No.  XVI.  —  ALFIERI. 

"  Here  repose 
Angela's,  Alficrrs  bones."  —  Stanza  liv. 


Alfieri  is  the  great  name  of  this  age.  The  Italians,  without 
waiting  for  the  hundred  years,  consider  him  as  "  a  poet  good  in 
law."  —  His  memory  is  the  more  dear  to  them  because  he  is  the 
bard  of  freedom;  and  because,  as  such,  his  tragedies  can 
receive  no  countenance  from  any  of  their  sovereigns.  They 
are  but  very  seldom,  and  but  very  few  of  them,  allowed 
to  be  acted.  It  was  observed  by  Cicero,  that  nowhere  were 
the  true  opinions  and  feelings  of  the  Romans  so  clearly 
shown  as  at  the  theatre.*  In  the  autumn  of  1816,  a  cele- 
brated improwisatore  exhibited  his  talents  at  the  Opera- 
house  of  Milan.  The  reading  of  the  theses  handed  in  for 
the  subjects  of  his  poetry  was  received  by  a  very  numerous  au- 
dience, for  the  most  part  in  silence,  or  with  laughter;  but  when 
the  assistant,  unfolding  one  of  the  papers,  exclaimed,  The  apo- 
theosis of  Victor  Jl/ficri,  the  whole  theatre  burst  into  a  shout,  and 
the  applause  was  continued  for  some  moments.  The  lot  did  not 
fall  on  Alfieri  ;  and  the  Signer  Sgricci  had  to  pour  forth  his  ex- 
temporary commonplaces  on  the  bombardment  of  Algiers.  The 


*  The  free  expression  of  their  honest  sentiments  survived  their  liberties. 
Titius,  the  friend  of  Antony,  presented  them  with  games  in  the  theatre  of  Pom- 
pey.  They  did  not  suffer  the  brilliancy  of  the  spectacle  to  efface  from  their 
memory  that  the  man  who  furnished  them  with  the  entertainment  had  mur- 
dered the  son  of  Pompey  :  they  drove  him  from  the  theatre  with  curses.  The 
moral  sense  of  a  populace,  spontaneously  expressed,  is  never  wrong.  Even 
the  soldiers  of  the  triumvirs  joined  in  the  execration  of  the  citizens,  by  shout- 
ing round  the  chariots  of  Lepidus  and  Plancus,  who  had  proscribed  their  bro- 
thers, De  Germaitis  non  de  Oallu  duo  triumphant  Consults  ;  a  saying  worth  a 
record,  were  it  nothing  but  a  good  pun.  [C.  Veil.  Paterculi  Hist.  lib.  ii.  cap 
Ixxix.  pag  73.  edit.  Elzevir.  1639.  Ihi  I  lib.  ii.  cap.  Uxvii.] 

ac» 


306  APPENDIX. 

choice,  indeed,  is  not  left  to  accident  quite  so  much  as  might  be 
thought  from  a  first  view  of  the  ceremony;  and  the  police  not 
only  takes  care  to  look  at  the  papers  beforehand,  but,  in  case  of 
any  prudential  after-thought,  steps  in  to  correct  the  blindness  of 
chance.  The  proposal  for  deifying  Alfieri  was  received  with 
immediate  enthusiasm,  the  rather  because  it  was  conjectured, 
here  would  be  no  opportunity  of  carrying  it  into  effect. 


No.  XVII. — MACHIAVELLI. 

"Here  Machiavelli  s  earth  returned  to  whenct,  it  rcsj." — 

Stanza  lir. 

The  affectation  of  simplicity  in  sepulchral  inscriptions,  which 
so  often  leaves  us  uncertain  whether  the  structure  before  us  is  an 
actual  depository,  or  a  cenotaph,  or  a  simple  memorial  not  of 
death  but  life,  has  given  to  the  tomb  of  Machiavelli  no  informa- 
tion as  to  the  place  or  time  of  the  birth  or  death,  the  age  or  pa- 
rentage, of  the  historian. 

TANTO    NOMINI    NVLLVM    PAR    ELOGIVM 
NICCOLAVS    MACHIAVELLI. 

There  seems  at  least  no  reason  why  the  name  should  not  have 
been  put  above  the  sentence  which  alludes  to  it. 

It  will  readily  be  imagined  that  the  prejudices  which  have 
passed  the  name  of  Machiavelli  into  an  epithet  proverbial  of 
iniquity  exist  no  longer  at  Florence.  His  memory  was  perse- 
cuted, as  his  life  had  been,  for  an  attachment  to  liberty  incom- 
patible with  the  new  system  of  despotism  which  succeeded  the 
fall  of  the  free  governments  of  Italy.  He  was  put  to  the  torture 
for  being  a  "libertine,"  that  is,  for  wishing  to  restore  the  repub- 
lic of  Florence;  and  such  are  the  undying  efforts  of  those  who 
are  interested  in  the  perversion,  not  only  of  the  nature  of  actions, 
but  the  meaning  of  words,  that  what  was  once  patriotism,  has 
by  degrees  come  to  signify  debauch.  We  have  ourselves  outlived 
the  old  meaning  of  "  liberality,"  which  is  now  another  word  for 
treason  in  one  country  and  for  infatuation  in  all.  It  seems  to 
have  been  a  strange  mistake  to  accuse  the  author  of  "  The 
Prince,"  as  being  a  pander  to  tyranny  ;  and  to  think  that  the  In- 
quisition would  condemn  his  work  for  such  a  delinquency.  The 
fact  is,  that  Machiavelli,  as  is  usual  with  those  against  whom 
no  crime  can  be  proved,  was  suspected  of  and  charged  with 
atheism;  and  the  first  and  last  most  violent  opposers  of  "The 


APPENDIX.  307 

Prince"  were  both  Jesuits,  one  of  whom  persuaded  the  Inquisi- 
tion, "benche  fosse  tardo,"  to  prohibit  the  treatise,  and  the  other 
qualified  the  secretary  of  the  Florentine  republic  as  no  better 
than  a  fool.  The  father  Possevin  was  proved  never  to  have  read 
the  book,  and  the  father  Lucchesini  not  to  have  understood  it. 
It  is  clear,  however,  that  such  critics  must  have  objected  not  to 
the  slavery  of  the  doctrines,  but  to  the  supposed  tendency  of  a 
lesson  which  shows  how  distinct  are  the  interests  of  a  monarch 
from  the  happiness  of  mankind.  The  Jesuits  are  re-established 
in  Italy,  and  the  last  chapter  of  "  The  Prince"  may  again  call 
forth  a  particular  refutation  from  those  who  are  employed  once 
more  in  moulding  the  minds  of  the  rising  generation,  so  as  to 
receive  the  impressions  of  despotism.  The  chapter  bears  for 
title,  "  Esortazione  a  liberare  la  Italia  dai  Barbari,"  and  con- 
cludes with  a  libertine  excitement  to  the  future  redemption  of 
Italy.  "  Non  si  deve  adunque  lasciar  passare  questa  occasione, 
acciocche  la  Italia  vegga  dopo  tanto  tempo  apparire  un  suo  re- 
dentore.  Ne  posso  esprimere  con  qual  amore  ei  fusse  ricevuto 
in  tutte  quelle  provincie,  che  hanno  patito  per  queste  illuvioni 
esterne,  con  qual  sete  di  vendetta,  con  che  ostinata  fede,  con  che 
lacrime.  Quali  porte  se  li  serrerebeno  ?  Quali  popoli  li  neg- 
herebbono  la  obbedienza  ?  Quale  Italiano  li  negherebbe  1'osse- 

?    AD  OGNCNO  Pl'ZZA  tjUESTO  BARBARO  DOMINIO."* 


No.  XVIII.— DANTE. 

"  Ungrateful  Florence  !  Dante  sleeps  afar." — Stanza  Ivii. 

Dante  was  born  in  Florence,  in  the  year  1261.  He  fought  in 
two  battles,  was  fourteen  times  ambassador,  and  once  prior  of 
the  republic.  When  the  party  of  Charles  of  Anjou  triumphed 
over  the  Bianchi,  he  was  absent  on  an  embassy  to  Pope  Boni- 
face VIII.,  and  was  condemned  to  two  years'  banishment,  and  to 
a  fine  of  8000  lire  ;  on  the  non-payment  of  which  he  was  fur- 
ther punished  by  the  sequestration  of  all  his  property.  The  re- 
public, however,  was  not  content  with  this  satisfaction,  for  in 
1772  was  discovered  in  the  archives  at  Florence  a  sentence  in 
which  Dante  is  the  eleventh  of  a  list  of  fifteen  condemned  in 
1302  to  be  burnt  alive ;  Tails  perveniens  igne  comburatur  sic  quod 


*  II  Principe  di  Niceolb  Machiavelli,kc.,con  la  prefazione  e  le  note  istoriche 
f  politiche  di  M.  Amelot  de  la  Houssaye  e  1'  esame  e  confutazione  dell'  opera  . . . 


Cosmopoli,  1760. 


308  APPENDIX. 

moriatur.  The  pretext  for  this  judgment  was  a  proof  of  unfair 
barter,  extortions,  and  illicit  gains.  Baracteriarum  iniquarum, 
cxtorsionum  el  illicitorum  lucrorum,*  and  with  such  an  accusation 
it  is  not  strange  that  Dante  should  have  always  protested  his  in- 
nocence, and  the  injustice  of  his  fellow-citizens.  His  appeal  to 
Florence  was  accompanied  hy  another  to  the  Emperor  Henry ; 
and  the  death  of  that  sovereign  in  1313  was  the  signal  for  a  sen- 
tence of  irrevocable  banishment.  He  had  before  lingered  near 
Tuscany  with  hopes  of  recall ;  then  travelled  into  the  north  of 
Italy,  where  Verona  had  to  boast  of  his  longest  residence  ;  and 
he  finally  settled  at  Ravenna,  which  was  his  ordinary  but  not 
constant  abode  until  his  death.  The  refusal  of  the  Venetians  to 
grant  him  a  public  audience,  on  the  part  of  Guido  Novello  da 
Polenta,  his  protector,  is  said  to  have  been  the  principal  cause 
of  this  event,  which  happened  in  1321.  He  was  buried  ("in 
sacra  minorum  rede")  at  Ravenna,  in  a  handsome  tomb,  which 
was  erected  by  Guido,  restored  by  Bernardo  Bembo  in  1483, 
praetor  for  that  republic  which  had  refused  to  hear  him ;  again 
restored  by  Cardinal  Corsi,  in  1692,  and  replaced  by  a  more 
magnificent  sepulchre,  constructed  in  1780  at  the  expense  of  the 
Cardinal  Luigi  Valenti  Gonzaga.  The  offence  or  misfortune  of 
Dante  was  an  attachment  to  a  defeated  party,  and,  as  his  least 
favourable  biographers  allege  against  him,  too  great  a  freedom 
of  speech  and  haughtiness  of  manner.  But  the  next  age  paid 
honours  almost  divine  to  the  exile.  The  Florentines,  having  in 
vain  and  frequently  attempted  to  recover  his  body,  crowned  his 
image  in  a  church,!  an^  h*8  picture  is  still  one  of  the  idols  of 
their  cathedral.  They  struck  medals,  they  raised  statues  to  him. 
The  cities  of  Italy,  not  being  able  to  dispute  about  his  own  birth, 
contended  for  that  of  his  great  poem ;  and  the  Florentines  thought 
it  for  their  honour  to  prove  that  he  had  finished  the  seventh 
canto  before  they  drove  him  from  his  native  city.  Fifty-one 
years  after  his  death,  they  endowed  a  professorial  chair  for  the 
expounding  of  his  verses,  and  Boccaccio  was  appointed  to  this 
patriotic  employment.  The  example  was  imitated  by  Bologna 
and  Pisa,  and  the  commentators,  if  they  performed  but  little  ser- 
vice to  literature,  augmented  the  veneration  which  beheld  a 
sacred  or  moral  allegory  in  all  the  images  of  his  mystic  muse. 
His  birth  and  his  infancy  were  discovered  to  have  been  distin- 


*  Storia  della  Lett.  Ital.  torn.  v.  lib.  iii.  par.  2,  p.  448.  Tiraboschi  is  incor 
rect ;  the  dates  of  the  three  decrees  against  Dante  are  A.  D.  1302, 1314,  and  1316. 

t  So  relates  Ficino,  but  some  think  his  coronation  only  an  allegory.  See 
sStoria,  &c.  ut  sup.  p.  453. 


APPENDIX.  309 

gnished  above  those  of  ordinary  men :  the  author  of  the  Deca- 
meron, his  earliest  biographer,  relates  that  his  mother  was 
warned  in  a  dream  of  the  importance  of  her  pregnancy :  and  it 
was  found,  by  others,  that  at  ten  years  of  age  he  had  manifested 
his  precocious  passion  for  that  wisdom  or  theology,  which,  under 
the  name  of  Beatrice,  had  been  mistaken  for  a  substantial  mis- 
tress. When  the  Divine  Comedy  had  been  recognised  as  a 
mere  mortal  production,  and  at  the  distance  of  two  centuries, 
when  criticism  and  competition  had  sobered  the  judgment  of 
the  Italians,  Dante  was  seriously  declared  superior  to  Homer  ;* 
and  though  the  preference  appeared  to  some  casuists  "an  here- 
tical blasphemy  worthy  of  the  flames,"  the  contest  was  vigo- 
rously maintained  for  nearly  fifty  years.  In  later  times  it  was 
made  a  question  which  of  the  Lords  of  Verona  could  boast  of 
having  patronised  him,-)"  and  the  jealous  skepticism  of  one 
writer  would  not  allow  Ravenna  the  undoubted  possession  of 
his  bones.  Even  the  critical  Tiraboschi  was  inclined  to  believe 
that  the  poet  had  foreseen  and  foretold  one  of  the  discoveries  of 
Galileo. — Like  the  great  originals  of  other  nations,  his  popu- 
larity has  not  always  maintained  the  same  level.  The  last  age 
seemed  inclined  to  undervalue  him  as  a  model  and  a  study :  and 
Bettinelli  one  day  rebuked  his  pupil  Monti,  for  poring  over  the 
harsh  and  obsolete  extravagances  of  the  Commedia.  The  pre- 
sent generation  having  recovered  from  the  Gallic  idolatries  of 
Cesarotti,  has  returned  to  the  ancient  worship,  and  the  Danleg- 
giare  of  the  northern  Italians  is  thought  even  indiscreet  by  the 
more  moderate  Tuscans. 

There  is  still  much  curious  information  relative  to  the  life  and 
writings  of  this  great  poet,  which  has  not  as  yet  been  collected 
even  by  the  Italians ;  but  the  celebrated  Ugo  Foscolo  meditates 
to  supply  this  defect,  and  it  is  not  to  be  regretted  that  this  na- 
tional work  has  been  reserved  for  one  so  devoted  to  his  country 
and  the  cause  of  truth. 


*  By  Varchi,  in  his  Ercolano.  The  controversy  continued  from  1570  to  1616. 
See  Storia,  &c.  torn.  vii.  lib.  iii.  par.  iii.  p.  1280. 

t  ttio.  .lacopo  Dionisi  Canonico  di  Verona.  Serie  di  Aneddoti,  n.  2.  Sea 
Storia,  Jtc.  torn,  v  lib.  i.  par.  i.  p.  24. 


310  APPENDIX. 


No.  XIX. — TOMB  OF  THE  SCIPIOS. 

"  Like  Scipio,  buried  by  the  upbraiding  shore  ; 
Thy  factions,  in  their  worse  than  civil  war, 
Proscribed,"  $~c. — Stanza  Ivii. 

The  elder  Scipio  Africanus,  had  a  tomb  if  he  was  not  buried 
at  Liternum,  whither  he  had  retired  to  voluntary  banishment. 
This  tomb  was  near  the  sea-shore,  and  the  story  of  an  inscription 
upon  it,  Ingrata  Patria,  having  given  a  name  to  a  modern  tower, 
is,  if  not  true,  an  agreeable  fiction.  If  he  was  not  buried,  he 
certainly  lived  there.* 

In  cosi  angusta  e  solitaria  villa 

Era  '1  grand'  uomo  che  d'  Africa  s'  appella 

Perche  prima  col  ferro  al  vivo  aprilla.j" 

Ingratitude  is  generally  supposed  the  vice  peculiar  to  repub- 
lics ;  and  it  seems  to  be  forgotten  that  for  one  instance  of  popu- 
lar inconstancy,  we  have  a  hundred  examples  of  the  fall  of 
courtly  favourites.  Besides,  a  people  have  often  repented — a 
monarch  seldom  or  never.  Leaving  apart  many  familiar  proofs 
of  this  fact,  a  short  story  may  show  the  difference  between  even 
an  aristocracy  and  the  multitude. 

Vettor  Pisani,  having  been  defeated  in  1354  at  Portolongo, 
and  many  years  afterwards  in  the  more  decisive  action  of  Pola, 
by  the  Genoese,  was  recalled  by  the  Venetian  government,  and 
thrown  into  chains.  The  Avvogadori  proposed  to  behead  him, 
but  the  supreme  tribunal  was  content  with  the  sentence  of  im- 
prisonment. Whilst  Pisani  was  suffering  this  unmerited  dis- 
grace, Chioza,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  capital,:}:  was,  by  the  as- 
sistance of  the  Signor  of  Padua,  delivered  into  the  hands  of 
Pietro  Doria.  At  the  intelligence  of  that  disaster,  the  great  bell 
of  St.  Mark's  tower  tolled  to  arms,  and  the  people  and  the  sol- 
diery of  the  galleys  were  summoned  to  the  repulse  of  the  ap- 
proaching enemy ;  but  they  protested  they  would  not  move  a 
step,  unless  Pisani  were  liberated  and  placed  at  their  head.  The 
great  council  was  instantly  assembled  :  the  prisoner  was  called 
before  them,  and  the  Doge,  Andrea  Contarini,  informed  him  of 
the  demands  of  the  people,  and  the  necessities  of  the  state, 
whose  only  hope  of  safety  was  reposed  in  his  efforts,  and  who 


*  Vitam  Literni  egit  sine  desiderio  urbis.   See  T.  Liv.  Hist.  lib.  xxxviii.   Livy 
reports  that  some  said  he  was  buried  at  Liternum,  others  at  Rome.   Ibid.  cap.  Iv. 
1  Trionfo  della  Castita.  J  See  Note  VI.  page  290. 


APPENDIX.  311 

implored  him  to  forget  the  indignities  he  had  endured  in  her  ser- 
vice. "  I  have  submitted,"  replied  the  magnanimous  republican, 
"  I  have  submitted  to  your  deliberations  without  complaint ;  I 
have  supported  patiently  the  pains  of  imprisonment,  for  they 
were  inflicted  at  your  command :  this  is  no  time  to  inquire  whe- 
ther I  deserved  them — the  good  of  the  republic  may  have  seemed 
to  require  it,  and  that  which  the  republic  resolves  is  always  re- 
solved wisely.  Behold  me  ready  to  lay  down  my  life  for  the 
preservation  of  my  country."  Pisani  was  appointed  generalis- 
simo, and  by  his  exertions,  in  conjunction  with  those  of  Carlo 
Zeno,  the  Venetians  soon  recovered  the  ascendancy  over  their 
maritime  rivals. 

The  Italian  communities  were  no  less  unjust  to  their  citizens 
than  the  Greek  republics.  Liberty,  both  with  the  one  and  the 
other,  seems  to  have  been  a  national,  not  an  individual  object: 
and,  notwithstanding  the  boasted  equality  before  the  laws,  which 
an  ancient  Greek  writer*  considered  the  great  distinctive  mark 
between  his  countrymen  and  the  barbarians,  the  mutual  rights  of 
fellow-citizens  seem  never  to  have  been  the  principal  scope  of  the 
old  democracies.  The  world  may  have  not  yet  seen  an  essay 
by  the  author  of  the  Italian  Republics,  in  which  the  distinction 
between  the  liberty  of  former  states  and  the  signification  at- 
tached to  that  word  by  the  happier  constitution  of  England,  is 
ingeniously  developed.  The  Italians,  however,  when  they  had 
ceased  to  be  free,  still  looked  back  with  a  sigh  upon  those  times 
of  turbulence,  when  every  citizen  might  rise  to  a  share  of  sovereign 
power,  and  have  never  been  taught  fully  to  appreciate  the  repose 
of  a  monarchy.  Sperone  Speroni,  when  Francis  Maria  II.  Duke 
of  Rovere  proposed  the  question,  "  Which  was  preferable,  the 
republic  or  the  principality — the  perfect  and  not  durable,  or  the 
less  perfect  and  not  so  liable  to  change,"  replied,  "  That  our  hap- 
piness is  to  be  measured  by  its  quality,  not  by  its  duration ;  and 
that  he  preferred  to  live  for  one  day  like  a  man,  than  for  a  hun- 
dred years  like  a  brute,  a  stock,  or  a  stone."  This  was  thought, 
and  called,  a  magnificent  answer,  down  to  the  last  days  of  Italian 
servitude.]" 


*  The  Greek  boasted  that  he  was  iVovfyoj.  See  the  last  chapter  of  the  first 
book  or  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus. 

t  "  E  intorno  alia  magnifica  risposta,"  kc.  Serassi,  Vita  del  Tasso,  lib.  iii.  pag. 
119,  torn.  ii.  edit.  3,  Bergamo. 


APPENDIX. 


No.  XX. — PETRARCH'S  CROWN. 

"  And  the  crown 

Which  Petrarch's  laureate  brow  supremely  wore, 
Upon  afar  and  foreign  soil  had  grown." — Stanza  Ivii. 

The  Florentines  did  not  take  the  opportunity  of  Petrarch' 
short  visit  to  their  city  in  1350,  to  revoke  the  decree  which  con- 
fiscated the  property  of  his  father,  who  had  been  banished  shortly 
after  the  exile  of  Dante.  His  crown  did  not  dazzle  them ;  but 
when  in  the  next  year  they  were  in  want  of  his  assistance  in  the 
formation  of  their  university,  they  repented  of  their  injustice,  and 
Boccaccio  was  sent  to  Padua  to  entreat  the  laureate  to  conclude 
his  wanderings  in  the  bosom  of  his  native  country,  where  he 
might  finish  his  immortal  Africa,  and  enjoy,  with  his  recovered 
possessions,  the  esteem  of  all  classes  of  his  fellow-citizens. 
They  gave  him  the  option  of  the  book  and  the  science  he  might 
condescend  to  expound  :  they  called  him  the  glory  of  his  country, 
who  was  dear,  and  who  would  be  dearer  to  them;  and  they 
added,  that  if  there  was  any  thing  unpleasing  in  their  letter,  he 
ought  to  return  amongst  them,  were  it  only  to  correct  their 
style.*  Petrarch  seemed  at  first  to  listen  to  the  flattery  and  to 
the  entreaties  of  his  friend,  but  he  did  not  return  to  Florence,  and 
preferred  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  Laura  and  the  shades  of 
Vaucluse. 


No.  XXI. — BOCCACCIO. 

"  Boccaccio  to  his  parent  earth  bequeathed 
His  dust." — Stanza  Iviii. 

Boccaccio  was  buried  in  the  church  of  St.  Michael  and  St. 
James,  at  Certaldo,  a  small  town  in  the  Valdelsa,  which  was  by 
some  supposed  the  place  of  his  birth.  There  he  passed  the  latter 
part  of  his  life  in  a  course  of  laborious  study,  which  shortened  his 
existence ;  and  there  might  his  ashes  have  been  secure,  if  not  of 
honour  at  least  of  repose.  But  the  "hyena  bigots"  of  Certaldo 


*  "  Accingiti  innoltre,  se  ci  6  lecito  ancor  1'  esortarti,  a  compire  V  immortal 
tna  Africa  .  .  .  Se  ti  avviene  d'  incontrare  nel  nostro  stile  cosache  tidispiaccia, 
•i&  debb'  essere  un  altro  motive  ad  esandire  i  desiderj  della  tua  patria."  Storia 
della  Lett.  Ital.  torn.  v.  par.  i.  lib.  i.  pag.  76. 


APPENDIX.  313 

lore  up  the  tombstone  of  Boccaccio,  and  ejected  it  from  the  holy 
precincts  of  St.  Michael  and  St.  James.  The  occasion,  and,  it 
may  be  hoped,  the  excuse,  of  this  ejectment  was  the  making  of  a 
new  floor  for  the  church ;  but  the  fact  is,  that  the  tombstone  was 
taken  up  and  thrown  aside  at  the  bottom  of  the  building.  Igno- 
rance may  share  the  sin  with  bigotry.  It  would  be  painful  to 
relate  such  an  exception  to  the  devotion  of  the  Italians  for  their 
great  names,  could  it  not  be  accompanied  by  a  trait  more  honour- 
ably conformable  to  the  general  character  of  the  nation.  The 
principal  person  of  the  district,  the  last  branch  of  the  house  of 
Medicis,  afforded  that  protection  to  the  memory  of  the  insulted 
dead  which  her  best  ancestors  had  dispensed  upon  all  contempo- 
rary merit.  The  Marchioness  Lenzoni  rescued  the  tombstone  of 
Boccaccio  from  the  neglect  in  which  it  had  some  time  lain,  and 
found  for  it  an  honourable  elevation  in  her  own  mansion.  She 
has  done  more;  the  house  in  which  the  poet  lived  has  been  as 
little  respected  as  his  tomb,  and  is  falling  to  ruin  over  the  head 
of  one  indifferent  to  the  name  of  its  former  tenant.  It  consists  of 
two  or  three  little  chambers,  and  a  low  tower,  on  which  Cosmo 
II.  affixed  an  inscription.  This  house  she  has  taken  measures 
to  purchase,  and  proposes  to  devote  to  it  that  care  and  consi- 
deration which  are  attached  to  the  cradle  and  to  the  roof  o/ 
genius. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  undertake  the  defence  of  Boccaccio ; 
but  the  man  who  exhausted  his  little  patrimony  in  the  acquire- 
ment of  learning;  who  was  amongst  the  first,  if  not  the  first,  to 
allure  the  science  and  the  poetry  of  Greece  to  the  bosom  of  Italy; 
— who  not  only  invented  a  new  style,  but  founded,  or  certainly 
fixed,  a  new  language ;  who,  besides  the  esteem  of  every  polite 
court  of  Europe,  was  thought  worthy  of  employment  by  the  pre- 
dominant republic  of  his  own  country,  and,  what  is  more,  of  the 
friendship  of  Petrarch,  who  lived  the  life  of  a  philosopher  and  a 
freeman,  and  who  died  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge, — such  a  man 
might  have  found  more  consideration  than  he  has  met  with  from 
the  priest  of  Certaldo,  and  from  a  late  English  traveller,  who 
strikes  off  his  portrait  as  an  odious,  contemptible,  licentious 
writer,  whose  impure  remains  should  be  suffered  to  rot  without 
a  record.*  That  English  traveller,  unfortunately  for  those  who 


*  Classical  Tonr,  chap.  li.  vol.  ii.  p.  355,  edit.  3d.    "  Of  Boccaccio,  the  modern 
Petronins,  we  say  nothing ;  the  abuse  of  genius  is  more  odious  and  more  con- 
temptible than  its  absence ;  and  it  imports  little  where  the  impure  remains  of  a 
licentious  author  are  consigned  to  their  kindred  dust,    Fot  the  same  reason 
27 


314  APPENDIX. 

have  to  deplore  the  loss  of  a  very  amiable  person,  is  beyond  z\l 
criticism  ;  but  the  mortality  which  did  not  protect  Boccacio  fron1 
Mr.  Eustace,  must  not  defend  Mr.  Eustace  from  the  impartial 
judgment  of  his  successors.  Death  may  canonize  his  virtues,  not 
his  errors ;  and  it  may  be  modestly  pronounced  that  he_  trans 
gressed,  not  only  as  an  author,  but  as  a  man,  when  he  evoked  the 
shade  of  Boccaccio  in  company  of  that  of  Aretine,  amidst  the 
sepulchres  of  Santa  Croce,  merely  to  dismiss  it  with  indignity. 
As  far  as  respects 

"II  flagello  de'  Principi, 
II  divin  Pietro  Aretino," 

it  is  of  little  import  what  censure  is  passed  upon  a  coxcomb  who 
owes  his  present  existence  to  the  above  burlesque  character  given 
to  him  by  the  poet,  whose  amber  has  preserved  many  other  grubs 
and  worms :  but  to  classify  Boccaccio  with  such  a  person,  and  to 
excommunicate  his  very  ashes,  must  of  itself  make  us  doubt  of 
the  qualification  of  the  classical  tourist  for  writing  upon  Italian, 
or,  indeed,  upon  any  other  literature ;  for  ignorance  on  one  point 
may  incapacitate  an  author  merely  for  that  particular  topic,  but 
subjection  to  a  professional  prejudice  must  render  him  an  unsafe 
director  on  all  occasions.  Any  perversion  and  injustice  may  be 
made  what  is  vulgarly  called  "a  case  of  conscience,"  and  this  poor 
excuse  is  all  that  can  be  offered  for  the  priest  of  Certaldo,  or  the 
author  of  the  Classical  Tour.  It  would  have  answered  the  pur- 
pose to  confine  the  censure  to  the  novels  of  Boccaccio;  and 
gratitude  to  that  source  which  supplied  the  muse  of  Dryden  with 
her  last  and  most  harmonious  numbers  might,  perhaps,  have 
restricted  that  censure  to  the  objectionable  qualities  of  the  hun- 
dred tales.  At  any  rate,  the  repentance  of  Boccaccio  might  have 
arrested  his  exhumation,  and  it  should  have  been  recollected  and 
told,  that  in  his  old  age  he  wrote  a  letter  entreating  his  friend  to 
discourage  the  reading  of  the  Decameron,  for  the  sake  of  modesty, 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  author,  who  would  not  have  an  apologist 
always  at  hand  to  state  in  his  excuse  that  he  wrote  it  when  young, 
and  at  the  command  of  his  superiors.*  It  is  neither  the  licen- 

the  traveller  may  pass  unnoticed  the  tomb  of  the  malignant  Aretino."  This 
dubious  phrase  is  hardly  enough  to  save  the  tourist  from  the  suspicion  of  an- 
other blunder  respecting  the  burial-place  of  Aretino,  whose  tomb  was  in  the 
church  of  St.  Luke  at  Venice,  and  gave  rise  to  the  famous  controversy  of 
which  some  notice  is  taken  in  Bayle.  Now  the  words  of  Mr.  Eustace  would 
lead  us  to  think  the  tomb  was  at  Florence,  or  at  least  was  to  be  somewhere  re- 
cognised. Whether  the  inscription  so  much  disputed  was  ever  written  on  the 
tomb  cannot  now  be.  decided,  for  all  memorial  of  this  author  has  disappeared 
from  the  church  of  St.  Luke. 
*  "Nonenimubuiueest,  qui  inexcusationemmeainconsurgens  dicat,  juveni* 


APPENDIX.  £n 

• 

liousness  of  the  writer,  nor  the  evil  propensities  of  the  reader, 
which  have  given  to  the  Decameron  alone,  of  all  the  works  of 
Boccaccio,  a  perpetual  popularity.  The  establishment  of  a  new 
and  delightful  dialect  conferred  an  immortality  on  the  works  in 
which  it  was  first  fixed.  The  sonnets  of  Petrarch  were,  for  the 
same  reason,  fated  to  survive  his  self-admired  Africa,  the  "  fa- 
vourite of  kings."  The  invariable  traits  of  nature  and  feeling 
with  which  the  novels,  as  well  as  the  verses,  abound,  have  doubt- 
less been  the  chief  source  of  the  foreign  celebrity  of  both  authors ; 
but  Boccaccio,  as  a  man,  is  no  more  to  be  estimated  by  that  work, 
than  Petrarch  is  to  be  regarded  in  no  other  light  than  as  the  lover 
of  Laura.  Even,  however,  had  the  father  of  the  Tuscan  prosa 
been  known  only  as  the  author  of  the  Decameron,  a  considerate 
writer  would  have  been  cautious  to  pronounce  a  sentence  irrecon- 
cilable with  the  unerring  voice  of  many  ages  and  nations.  An 
irrevocable  value  has  never  been  stamped  upon  any  work  solely 
recommended  by  impurity. 

The  true  source  of  the  outcry  against  Boccaccio,  which  began 
at  a  very  early  period,  was  the  choice  of  his  scandalous  person- 
ages in  the  cloisters  as  well  as  the  courts ;  but  the  princes  only 
laughed  at  the  gallant  adventures  so  unjustly  charged  upon  queen 
Theodelinda,  whilst  the  priesthood  cried  shame  upon  the  de- 
bauches drawn  from  the  convent  and  the  hermitage ;  and  most 
probably  for  the  opposite  reason,  namely,  that  the  picture  was 
faithful  to  the  life.  Two  of  the  novels  are  allowed  to  be  facts 
usefully  turned  into  tales  to  deride  the  canonization  of  rogues  and 
laymen.  Ser  Ciappelletto  and  Marcellinus  are  cited  with  applause 
even  by  the  decent  Muratori.*  The  great  Arnaud,  as  he  is  quoted 
in  Bayle,  states,  that  a  new  edition  of  the  novels  was  proposed, 
of  which  the  expurgation  consisted  in  omitting  the  words 
"  monk"  and  "  nun,"  and  tacking  the  immoralities  to  other  names. 
The  literary  history  of  Italy  particularizes  no  such  edition  ;  but 
it  was  not  long  before  the  whole  of  Europe  had  but  one  opinion, 
of  the  Decameron ;  and  the  absolution  of  the  author  seems  to  have 
been  a  point  settled  at  least  a  hundred  years  ago.  "  On  se  feroit 
siffler  si  1'on  pretendoit  convaincre  Boccace  de  n'avoir  pas  ele 
honnete  homme,  puis  qu'il  a  fait  le  Decameron."  So  said  one 
'jf  the  best  men,  and  perhaps  the  best  critic  that  ever  lived — the 


pr.ripsit,  et  majoris  coactus  imperio."    The  letter  was  addressed  to  Maghinard 
of  Cavalcanti,  marshal  of  the  kingdom  of  Sicily.     See  Tiraboschi,  Storia,  fcc 
torn.  v.  par.  ii.  iib.  iii. 
*  Dissertazioni  sopra  le  Anticlmi  Ttaliane,  Diss.  Iviii.  „,  ' 


316  APPENDIX. 

• 

very  martyr  to  impartiality.*  But  as  this  information,  that  in  the 
beginning  of  the  last  century,  one  would  have  been  hooted  at  for 
pretending  that  Boccaccio  was  not  a  good  man,  may  seem  to  come 
from  one  of  those  enemies  who  are  to  be  suspected,  even  when 
they  make  us  a  present  of  truth,  a  more  acceptable  contrast  with 
the  proscription  of  the  body,  soul,  and  muse  of  Boccaccio  may  be 
found  in  a  few  words  from  the  virtuous,  the  patriotic  contempo- 
rary, who  thought  one  of  the  tales  of  this  impure  writer  worthy  a 
Latin  version  from  his  own  pen.  "  I  have  remarked  elsewhere," 
says  Petrarch,  writing  to  Boccaccio,  "  that  the  book  itself  has 
been  worried  by  certain  dogs,  but  stoutly  defended  by  your  staff 
and  voice.  Nor  was  I  astonished,  for  1  have  had  proof  of  the 
vigour  of  your  mind,  and  I  know  you  have  fallen  on  that  unac- 
commodating, incapable  race  of  mortals,  who,  whatever  they 
either  like  not,  or  know  not,  or  cannot  do,  are  sure  to  reprehend  in 
others ;  and  on  those  occasions  only  put  on  a  show  of  learning 
and  eloquence,  but  otherwise  are  entirely  dumb."* 

It  is  satisfactory  to  find  that  all  the  priesthood  do  not  resemble 
those  of  Certaldo,  and  that  one  of  them  who  did  not  possess  the 
bones  of  Boccaccio  would  not  lose  the  opportunity  of  raising  a 
cenotaph  to  his  memory.  Bevius,  canon  of  Padua,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  sixteenth  century,  erected  at  Arqua,  opposite  to  the 
tomb  of  the  Laureate,  a  tablet,  in  which  he  associated  Boccaccio 
to  the  equal  honours  of  Dante  and  of  Petrarch. 


No.  XXII.— THE  MEDICI. 
"  What  is  her  pyramid  of  precious  stones?" — Stanza  Ix. 

Our  veneration  for  the  Medici  begins  with  Cosmo,  and  expires 
with  his  grandson ;  that  stream  is  pure  only  at  the  source ;  and 
it  is  in  search  of  some  memorial  of  the  virtuous  republicans  of  the 
family,  that  we  visit  the  church  of  St.  Lorenzo  at  Florence.  The 
tawdry,  glaring,  unfinished  chapel  in  that  church,  designed  for  the 
mausoleum  of  the  dukes  of  Tuscany,  set  round  with  crowns  and 
coffins,  gives  birth  to  no  emotions  but  those  of  contempt  for  the 
lavish  vanity  of  a  race  of  despots,  whilst  the  pavement  slab,  simply 
inscribed  to  the  father  of  his  country,  reconciles  us  to  the  name 


*  F.r.laircissement,  &c.  &c.  p.  638,  edit.  Basle,  1741,  in  the  Supplement  to  Bay  le's 
Dictionary, 
t  Opp.  torn.  i.  p.  510,  edit.  Basil. 


APPENDIX.  317 

of  Medici.*  It  was  very  natural  for  Corinaaf  to  suppose  that  tho 
statue  raised  to  the  Duke  of  Urbino  in  the  capclla  d£  depositi  was 
intended  for  his  great  namesake;  but  the  magnificent  Lorenzo  is 
only  the  sharer  of  a  coffin  half  hidden  in  a  niche  of  the  sacristy. 
The  decay  of  Tuscany  dates  from  the  sovereignty  of  the  Medici. 
Of  the  sepulchral  peace  which  succeeded  to  the  establishment  of 
the  reigning  families  in  Italy,  our  own  Sidney  has  given  us  a 
glowing,  but  a  faithful  picture.  "  Notwithstanding  all  the  sedi- 
tions of  Florence,  and  other  cities  of  Tuscany,  the  horrid  factions 
of  Guelphs  and  Ghibelins,  Neri  and  Bianchi,  nobles  and  com- 
mons, they  continued  populous,  strong,  and  exceeding  rich ;  but 
in  the  space  of  less  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  the  peaceable 
reign  of  the  Medices  is  said  to  have  destroyed  nine  parts  in  ten 
of  the  people  of  that  province.  Amongst  other  things,  it  is  re- 
markable, that  when  Philip  II.  of  Spain  gave  Sienna  to  the  Duke 
of  Florence,  his  ambassador  then  at  Rome  sent  him  word,  that  he 
had  given  away  more  than  65,000  subjects  ;  and  it  is  not  believed 
there  are  now  20,000  souls  inhabiting  that  city  and  territory. 
Pisa,  Pistoia,  Arezzo,  Cortona,  and  other  towns,  that  were  then 
good  and  populous,  are  in  the  like  proportion  diminished,  and 
Florence  more  than  any.  When  that  city  had  been  long  troubled 
with  seditions,  tumults,  and  war,  for  the  most  part  unprosperous, 
they  still  retained  such  strength,  that  when  Charles  VIII.  of 
France,  being  admitted  as  a  friend  with  his  whole  army,  which 
soon  after  conquered  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  thought  to  master 
them,  the  people,  taking  arms,  struck  such  a  terror  into  him,  that 
he  was  glad  to  depart  upon  such  conditions  as  they  thought  fit  to 
impose.  Machiavel  reports,  that  in  that  time  Florence  alone, 
with  the  Val  d'Arno,  a  small  territory  belonging  to  that  city, 
could,  in  a  few  hours,  by  the  sound  of  a  bell,  bring  together 
135,000  well-armed  men;  whereas  now  that  city,  with  all  the 
others  in  the  province,  are  brought  to  such  despicable  weakness, 
emptiness,  poverty,  and  baseness,  that  they  can  neither  resist  the 
oppression  of  their  own  prince,  nor  defend  him  or  themselves  if 
they  were  assaulted  by  a  foreign  enemy.  The  people  are  dis- 
persed or  destroyed,  and  the  best  families  sent  to  seek  habitations 
in  Venice,  Genoa,  Rome,  Naples,  and  Lucca.  This  is  not  tho 
effect  of  war  or  pestilence  :  they  enjoy  a  perfect  peace,  and  suffer 
no  other  plague  than  the  government  they  are  under.":}:  From 


*  Cosmus  Mediceg,  Decreto  Publico,  Pater  Patrite. 
f  Corinne,  liv.  xviii.  chap.  iii.  vol.  iii.  page  218. 

t  On  Government,  chap.  ii.  sect.  xxvi.  pag.  203,  edit.  1751 .   Sidney  is,  together 
with  Locke  and  Hundley,  one  of  Mr.  Hume's  "despicable"  writers. 
27* 


318  APPENDIX. 

the  usurper  Cosmo  down  to  the  imbecile  Gaston,  we  look  in  vain 
fur  any  of  those  unmixed  qualities  which  should  raise  a  patriot  to 
the  command  of  his  fellow  citizens.  The  grand  dukes,  and  par- 
ticularly the  third  Cosmo,  had  operated  so  entire  a  change  in  the 
Tuscan  character,  that  the  candid  Florentines,  in  excuse  for 
some  imperfections  in  the  philanthropic  system  of  Leopold,  are 
obliged  to  confess  that  the  sovereign  was  the  only  liberal  man  in 
his  dominions.  Yet  that  excellent  prince  himself  had  no  othei 
notion  of  a  national  assembly,  than  of  a  body  to  represent  the 
wants  and  wishes,  not  the  will,  of  the  people. 


No.  XXIII. — BATTLE  OF  THRASIMENE. 
"An  earthquake  reePd  unheededly  away." — Stanza  Ixiii. 

"  And  such  was  their  mutual  animosity,  so  intent  were  they 
upon  the  battle,  that  the  earthquake,  which  overthrew  in  great 
part  many  of  the  cities  of  Italy,  which  turned  the  course  of  rapid 
streams,  poured  back  the  sea  upon  the  rivers,  and  tore  down  the 
very  mountains,  was  not  felt  by  one  of  the  combatants."*  Such 
is  the  description  of  Livy.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  modern 
tactics  would  admit  of  such  an  abstraction. 

The  site  of  the  battle  of  Thrasimene  is  not  to  be  mistaken. 
The  traveller  from  the  village  under  Cortona  to  Casa  di  Piano, 
the  next  stage  on  the  way  to  Rome,  has  for  the  first  two  or  three 
miles,  around  him,  but  more  particularly  to  the  right,  that  flat 
land  which  Hannibal  laid  waste  in  order  to  induce  the  Consul 
Flaminius  to  move  from  Arezzo.  On  his  left,  and  in  front  of  him, 
is  a  ridge  of  hills,  bending  down  towards  the  lake  of  Thrasimene, 
called  by  Livy  "monies  Cortonenses,"  and  now  named  the  Gua- 
landra.  These  hills  he  approaches  at  Ossaja,  a  village  which  the 
itineraries  pretend  to  have  been  so  denominated  from  the  bones 
found  there :  but  there  have  been  no  bones  found  there,  and  the 
battle  was  fought  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  From  Ossaja 
the  road  begins  to  rise  a  little,  but  does  not  pass  into  the  roots  of 
the  mountains  until  the  sixty-seventh  milestone  from  Florence. 
The  ascent  thence  is  not  steep  but  perpetual,  and  continues  for 
twenty  minutes.  The  lake  is  soon  seen  below  on  the  right,  with 
Horghetto,  a  round  tower,  close  upon  the  water ;  and  the  undu- 


*  Tit.  Liv.  lib.  xiii.  cap.  xii. 


APPENDIX.  319 

lating  hills  partially  covered  with  wood,  amongst  which  the  road 
winds,  sink  by  degrees  into  the  marshes  near  to  this  tower. 
Lower  than  the  road,  down  to  the  right  of  these  woody  hillocks, 
Hannibal  placed  his  horse*  in  the  jaws  of,  or  rather  above  the 
pass,  which  was  between  the  lake  and  the  present  road,  and  most 
probably  close  to  Borghetto,  just  under  the  lowest  of  the 
"  tumuli."!  On  a  summit  to  the  left,  above  the  road,  is  an  old 
circular  ruin,  which  the  peasants  call  "the  tower  of  Hannibal  the 
Carthaginian."  Arrived  at  the  highest  point  of  the  road,  the 
traveller  has  a  partial  view  of  the  fatal  plain,  which  opens  fully 
upon  him  as  he  descends  the  Gualandra.  He  soon  finds  himself 
i  ii  a  vale  enclosed  to  the  left,  and  in  front,  and  behind,  by  the 
Gualandra  hills,  bending  round  in  a  segment  larger  than  a  semi- 
circle, and  running  down  at  each  end  to  the  lake,  which  obliques 
to  the  right,  and  forms  the  chord  of  the  mountain  arc.  The  posi- 
tion cannot  be  guessed  at  from  the  plains  of  Cortona,  nor  appears 
to  be  so  completely  enclosed  unless  to  one  who  is  fairly  within 
the  hills.  It  then,  indeed,  appears  "  a  place  made  as  it  were  on 
purpose  for  a  snare,"  locus  insidits  natus.  "  Borghetto  is  then 
found  to  stand  in  a  narrow  marshy  pass  close  to  the  hill,  and  to 
the  lake,  whilst  there  is  no  other  outlet  at  the  opposite  turn  of 
the  mountains  than  through  the  little  town  of  Passignano,  which 
is  pushed  into  the  water  by  the  foot  of  a  high  rocky  acclivity." 
There  is  a  woody  eminence  branching  down  from  the  mountains 
into  the  upper  end  of  the  plain  nearer  to  the  side  of  Passignano, 
and  on  this  stands  a  white  village  called  Torre.  Polybius  seems 
to  allude  to  this  eminence  as  the  one  on  which  Hannibal  en- 
camped, and  drew  out  his  heavy-armed  Africans  and  Spaniards 
in  a  conspicuous  position.^:  From  this  spot  he  despatched  his 
Balearic  and  light-armed  troops  round  through  the  Gualandra 
heights  to  the  right,  so  as  to  arrive  unseen  and  form  an  ambush 
amongst  the  broken  acclivities  which  the  road  now  passes,  and 
to  be  ready  to  act  upon  the  left  flank  and  above  the  enemy,  whilst 
the  horse  shut  up  the  pass  behind.  Flaminius  came  to  the  lake 
near  Borghetto  at  sunset;  and,  without  sending  any  spies  before 
him,  marched  through  the  pass  the  next  morning  before  the  day 
had  quite  broken,  so  that  he  perceived  nothing  of  the  horse  and 
light  troops  above  and  about  him,  and  saw  only  the  heavy-armed 


*  Tit.  Liv.  lib.  xxii.  cap.  iv.  t  Ibid. 

t  Hist.  lib.  iii.  cap.  83.  The  account  in  Polybius  is  not  so  easily  reconcilable 
with  present  appearances  as  that  in  Livy ;  he  talks  of  hills  to  the  right  and  left 
of  the  pass  and  valley  ;  but  when  Flaminius  entered  he  had  the  lake  at  the  rigb-: 
of  both. 


320  APPENDIX. 

Carthaginians  in  front  on  the  hill  of  Torre.  The  consul  began 
to  draw  out  his  army  in  the  flat,  and  in  the  mean  time  the  horse 
in  ambush  occupied  the  pass  behind  him  at  Borghetto.  Thus  the 
Romans  were  completely  enclosed,  having  the  lake  on  the  right, 
the  main  army  on  the  hill  of  Torre  in  front,  the  Gualandra  hills 
filled  with  the  light-armed  on  their  left  flank,  and  being  pre- 
vented from  receding  by  the  cavalry,  who,  the  farther  they  ad- 
vanced, stopped  up  all  the  outlets  in  the  rear.  A  fog  rising 
from  the  lake  now  spread  itself  over  the  army  of  the  consul,  but 
the  high  lands  were  in  the  sunshine,  and  all  the  different  corps  in 
ambush  looked  toward  the  hill  of  Torre  for  the  order  of  attack. 
Hannibal  gave  the  signal,  and  moved  down  from  his  post  on  the 
height.  At  the  same  moment  all  his  troops  on  the  eminences 
behind  and  in  the  flank  of  Flaminius  rushed  forward  as  it  were 
with  one  accord  into  the  plain.  The  Romans,  who  were  forming 
their  array  in  the  mist,  suddenly  heard  the  shouts  of  the  enemy 
amongst  them,  on  every  side,  and  before  they  could  fall  into  their 
ranks,  or  draw  their  swords,  or  see  by  whom  they  were  attacked, 
felt  at  once  that  they  were  surrounded  and  lost. 

There  are  two  little  rivulets  which  run  from  the  Gualandra  into 
the  lake.  The  traveller  crosses  the  first  of  these  at  about  a  mile  after 
he  comes  into  the  plain,  and  this  divides  the  Tuscan  from  the 
papal  territories.  The  second,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further 
on,  is  called  "the  bloody  rivulet ;"  and  the  peasants  point  out  an 
open  spot  to  the  left,  between  the  "  Sanguinetto"  and  the  hills, 
which,  they  say,  was  the  principal  scene  of  slaughter.  The  other 
part  of  the  plain  is  covered  with  thick-set  olive-trees  in  corn 
grounds,  and  is  nowhere  quite  level  except  near  the  edge  of  the 
lake.  It  is,  indeed,  most  probable  that  the  battle  was  fought  near 
this  end  of  the  valley,  for  the  six  thousand  Romans,  who,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  action,  broke  through  the  enemy,  escaped  to  the 
summit  of  an  eminence  which  must  have  been  in  this  quarter, 
otherwise  they  would  have  had  to  traverse  the  whole  plain,  and 
to  pierce  through  the  main  army  of  Hannibal. 

The  Romans  fought  desperately  for  three  hours  ;  but  the  death 
of  Flaminius  was  the  signal  for  a  general  dispersion.  The  Car- 
thaginian horse  then  burst  in  upon  the  fugitives,  and  the  lake, 
the  marsh  about  Borghetto,  but  chiefly  the  plain  of  the  San- 
guinetto and  the  passes  of  the  Gualandra,  were  strewed  with 
dead.  Near  some  old  walls  on  a  bleak  ridge  to  the  left  above  the 
rivulet,  many  human  bones  have  been  repeatedly  found,  and  this 
has  confirmed  the  pretensions  and  the  name  of  the  "stream  of 
blood." 


APPENDIX.  321 

Every  district  of  Italy  has  its  hero.  In  the  north  some  painter 
is  the  usual  genius  of  the  place,  and  the  foreign  Julio  Romano 
more  than  divides  Mantua  with  her  native  Virgil.*  To  the  south 
we  hear  of  Roman  names.  Near  Thrasimene  tradition  is  still 
faithful  to  the  fame  of  an  enemy,  and  Hannibal  the  Carthaginian 
is  the  only  ancient  name  remembered  on  the  banks  of  the  Perugian 
lake.  Flaminius  is  unknown ;  but  the  postilions  on  that  road 
have  been  taught  to  show  the  very  spot  where  11  Console  Romano 
was  slain.  Of  all  who  fought  and  fell  in  the  battle  of  Thrasimene, 
the  historian  himself  has,  besides  the  generals  and  Maharbal, 
preserved  indeed  only  a  single  name.  You  overtake  the  Car- 
thaginian again  on  the  same  road  to  Rome.  The  antiquary,  that 
is,  the  hostler  of  the  post-house  at  Spoleto,  tells  you  that  his  town 
repulsed  the  victorious  enemy,  and  shows  you  the  gate  still  called 
Porta  di  rfnnibale.  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  remark  that  a 
French  travel  writer,  well  known  by  the  name  of  the  President 
Dupaty,  saw  Thrasimene  in  the  lake  of  Bolsena,  which  lay  con- 
veniently on  his  way  from  Sienna  to  Rome. 


No.  XXIV — STATUE  OF  PGMPEY. 

"  And  thou,  dread  statue  !  still  existent  in 
The  auslerest  form  of  naked  majesty.'''' — Stanza  Ixxxvii. 

The  projected  division  of  the  Spada  Pompey  has  already  been 
recorded  by  the  historian  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire.  Mr.  Gibbon  found  it  in  the  memorials  of  Flaminius 
Vacca ;  and  it  may  be  added  to  his  mention  of  it,  that  Pope 
Julius  III.  gave  the  contending  owners  five  hundred  crowns  for 
the  statue,  and  presented  it  to  Cardinal  Capo  di  Ferro,  who  had 
prevented  the  judgment  of  Solomon  from  being  executed  upon 
the  image.  In  a  more  civilized  age  this  statue  was  exposed  to  an 
actual  operation :  for  the  French,  who  acted  the  Brutus  of 
Voltaire  in  the  Coliseum,  resolved  that  their  Caesar  should  fall  at 
the  base  of  that  Pompey,  which  was  supposed  to  have  been 
sprinkled  with  the  blood  of  the  original  dictator.  The  nine-foot 
hero  was  therefore  removed  to  the  arena  of  the  amphitheatre,  avid, 
to  facilitate  its  transport,  suffered  the  temporary  amputation  of  its 


*  About  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century  the  coins  of  Mantua  bore  on  one 
side  the  imape  and  figure  of  Virgil.  Zecca  d'  Italia,  pi.  xvii.  i.  6.  Voyage  dam 
lo  Milanais,  &c.  par  A.  Z.  Millin,  torn.  ii.  pag.  294.  Paris,  1817. 


322  APPENDIX. 

right  arm.  The  repuhlican  tragedians  had  to  plead  that  the  arm 
was  a  restoration :  but  their  accusers  do  not  believe  that  the  inte- 
grity of  the  statue  would  have  protected  it.  The  love  of  finding 
every  coincidence  has  discovered  the  true  Caesarian  ichor  in  a  stain 
near  the  right  knee ;  but  colder  criticism  has  rejected  not  only  the 
blood,  but  the  portrait,  and  assigned  the  globe  of  power  rather  to 
the  first  of  the  emperors  than  to  the  last  of  the  republican  masters 
of  Rome.  Winkelmann*  is  loath  to  allow  an  heroic  statue  of  a 
Roman  citizen,  but  the  Grimani  Agrippa,  a  contemporary  almost, 
is  heroic ;  and  naked  Roman  figures  were  only  very  rare,  net 
absolutely  forbidden.  The  face  accords  much  better  with  the 
"hominem  integrum  et  castum  et  gravem,"|  than  with  any  of  the 
busts  of  Augustus,  and  is  too  stern  for  him  who  was  beautiful, 
says  Suetonius,  at  all  periods  of  his  life.  The  pretended  likeness 
to  Alexander  the  Great  cannot  be  discerned,  but  the  traits  re- 
semble the  medal  of  Pompey.^l  The  objectionable  globe  may  not 
have  been  an  ill-applied  flattery  to  him  who  found  Asia  Minor 
the  boundary,  and  left  it  the  centre  of  the  Roman  empire.  It 
seems  that  Winkelmann  has  made  a  mistake  in  thinking  that  no 
proof  of  the  identity  of  this  statue  with  that  which  received  the 
bloody  sacrifice  can  be  derived  from  the  spot  where  it  was  dis- 
covered.§  Flaminius  Vacca  says  sotlo  una  cantina,  and  this 
cantina  is  known  to  have  been  in  the  Vicolo  de'  Leutari,  near 
the  Cancellaria.;  a  position  corresponding  exactly  to  that  of 
the  Janus  before  the  basilica  of  Pompey's  theatre,  to  which 
Augustus  transferred  the  statue  after  the  curia  was  either  burnt 
or  taken  down.||  Part  of  the  Pompeian  shade,  the  portico,  ex- 
isted in  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  the  atrium  was 
called  Satrum.  So  says  Blondus.  At  all  events,  so  imposing  is 
the  stern  majesty  of  the  statue,  and  so  memorable  is  the  stor}1, 
that  the  play  of  the  imagination  leaves  no  room  for  the  exercise  of 
the  judgment;  and  the  fiction,  if  a  fiction  it  is,  operates  on  the 
spectator  with  an  effect  not  less  powerful  than  truth. 


*  Storia  delle  Arti,  &c.  lib.  ix.  cap.  1.  pag.  321,  322.  torn.  ii. 
t  Cicer.  Epist.  ad  Atticum,  xi.  6. 
J  Published  by  Causeus,  in  his  Museum  Romanum. 
$  Storia  de'.'.e  Arti,  &c.  1.  ix.  c.  i. 

I!  Sueton.  in  vit.  August,  cap.  31.  and  in  vit.  C.  J.  Ctesar.  cap.  88.    Appian 
pays  it  was  burnt  down.    See  a  note  of  Pitisr.us  to  Suetonius,  p:ig.  221. 


APPENDIX.  323 


No.  XXV — THE  BRONZE  WOLF. 

"And  ihou,  the  thunder-stricken  nurse  nf  Rome!" 

Stanza  Ixxxviii. 

Ancient  Rome,  like  modern  Sienna,  abounded  most  probably 
with  images  of  the  foster-mother  of  her  founder ;  but  there  were 
two  she-wolves,  of  whom  history  makes  particular  mention.  One 
of  these,  of  brass  in  ancient  work,  was  seen  by  Dionysius*  at  the 
temple  of  Romulus,  under  the  Palatine,  and  is  universally  believed 
to  be  that  mentioned  by  the  Latin  historian,  as  having  been  made 
from  the  money  collected  by  a  fine  on  usurers,  and  as  standing 
under  the  Ruminal  figtree.f  The  other  was  that  which  Cicero^ 
has  celebrated  both  in  prose  and  verse,  and  which  the  historian 
Dion  also  records  as  having  suffered  the  same  accident  as  is 
alluded  to  by  the  orator.§  The  question  agitated  by  the  anti- 
quaries is,  whether  the  wolf  now  in  the  Conservator's  Palace  is 
that  of  Livy  and  Dionysius,  or  that  of  Cicero,  or  whether  it  is 
neither  one  nor  the  other.  The  earlier  writers  differ  as  much  a? 
the  moderns;  Lucius  Faunus||  says,  that  it  is  the  one  alluded  to 
by  both,  which  is  impossible,  and  also  by  Virgil,  which  may  be. 
Fulvius  Ursinus^f  calls  it  the  wolf  of  Dionysius,  and  Marlianus** 
talks  of  it  as  the  one  mentioned  by  Cicero.  To  him  Rycquius 
tremblingly  assents. fj~  Nardini  is  inclined  to  suppose  it  may  be 
one  of  the  many  wolves  preserved  in  ancient  Rome  ;  but  of  the 


*  Antiq.  Horn.  lib.  I. 
t  Liv.  Hist.  lib.  x.  cap.  Ixix. 

j  "Turn  statua  Natts,  turn  simulacra  Deorum,  Romuliisque  et  Remus  euro 
altrice  bellua  vi  fulminis  ictis  conciderunt."  De  Divinat.  ii.  20.  "Tactugest 
ille  etiam  qui  hanc  urbem  condidit  Romulus,  quern  inauratum  in  Capitolio 
parvum  atque  lactantcm,  uberibus  lupinis  inhiantem  fuisse  nieministis."  In 
Catilin.  iii.  8. 

"  Hie  silvestris  erat  Romani  nominis  altrix 
Martia,  qua;  parvos  Mavortis  semine  naloa 
Uberibus  gravidis  vitali  rore  rigebat 
Qtie  linn  cum  pueris  flammato  fulminis  ict 
Concidit,  atque  avulsa  pedum  vestigia  liquat. 

De  Consulatu,  lib.  ii.  (lib.  i.  de  Divinat. 'cap.  ii.) 
$  Dion.  Hist.  lib.  xxxvii.  p.  37.  edit.  Rob.  Steph.  1548. 

0  Lac.  Fauni  de  Antiq.  Urb.  Rom.  lib.  ii.  cap.  vii.  ap.  Sallengre,  torn.  >. 
p.  217. 

IT  Ap.  Nardini,  Roma  Vetus,  1.  v.  c.  iv. 
**  Marliani  Urb.  Rom.  Topograph.  lib.  ii.  cap.  ix. 

ft  Just.  Rycquii  de  Cupit.  Roman.  Coiuin.  cap.  xxiv  ""g.  250.  edit.  Lugd. 
Bai.  10'JG. 


321  A  P  P  E  N  D  I X. 

two  rather  bends  to  the  Ciceronian  statue.*  Montfatic.onf 
mentions  it  as  a  point  without  doubt. — Of  the  later  writers  the 
decisive  Winkelmann:}:  proclaims  it  as  having  been  found  at  the 
church  of  Saint  Theodore,  where,  or  near  where,  was  the  temple 
of  Romulus,  and  consequently  makes  it  the  wolf  of  Dionysius. 
His  authority  is  Lucius  Faunus,  who,  however,  only  says  that  it 
was  placed,  not  found,  at  the  Ficus  Ruminalis,  by  the  Comitium, 
by  which  he  does  not  seem  to  allude  to  the  church  of  Saint 
Theodore.  Rycquius  was  the  first  to  make  the  mistake,  and 
Winkelmann  followed  Rycquius. 

Flaininius  Vacca  tells  quite  a  different  story,  and  says  he  had 
heard  the  wolf  with  the  twins  was  found§  near  the  arch  of 
Septinnus  Severus.  The  commentator  on  Winkelmann  is  of  the 
same  opinion  with  that  learned  person,  and  is  incensed  at  Nardini 
for  not  having  remarked  that  Cicero,  in  speaking  of  the  wolf 
struck  with  lightning  in  the  capitol,  makes  use  of  the  past  tense. 
But,  with  the  Abate's  leave,  Nardini  dees  not  positively  assert  the 
statue  to  be  that  mentioned  by  Cicero,  and,  if  he  had,  the  as- 
sumption would  not  perhaps  have  been  so  exceedingly  indiscreet. 
The  Abate  is  himself  obliged  to  own  that  there  are  marks  very 
like  the  scathing  of  lightning  in  the  hinder  legs  of  the  present 
wolf;  and,  to  get  rid  of  this,  adds,  that  the  wolf  seen  by  Dio- 
nysius might  have  been  also  struck  by  lightning,  or  otherwise 
injured.  ^ 

Let  us  examine  the  subject  by  a  reference  to  the  words  of 
Cicero.  The  orator  in  two  places  seems  to  particularize  the 
Romulus  and  the  Remus,  especially  the  first,  which  his  audience 
remembered  to  have  been  in  the  Capitol,  as  being  struck  with 
lightning.  In  his  verses  he  records  that  the  twins  and  wolf  both 
fell,  and  that  the  latter  left  behind  the  marks  of  her  feet.  Cicero 
does  not  say  that  the  wolf  was  consumed :  and  Dion  only  mentions 
that  it  fell  down,  without  alluding,  as  the  Abate  had  made  him, 
to  the  force  of  the  blow,  or  the  firmness  with  which  it  had  been 
fixed.  The  whole  strength,  therefore,  of  the  Abate's  argument 
hangs  upon  the  past  tense;  which,  however,  may  be  somewhat 
diminished  by  remarking  that  the  phrase  only  shows  that  the 
statue  was  not  then  standing  in  its  former  position.  Winkelmann 


*  Nardini,  Roma  Veins,  lib.  v.  cap.  iv. 

t  Diarium  Italic,  torn.  i.  p.  174. 

J  Storia  delle  Arti,  &.c.  lib.  iii.  cap.  iii.  g.  ii.  note  10.  Winkelmann  has  made 
a  strange  blunder  in  the  note,  by  saying  the  Ciceronian  wolf  was  not  in  the 
Capitol,  and  that  Dion  was  wrong  in  saying  so. 

)  Flam   Vacca   MuuiurK-,  num.  iii.  p.  i.  ap.  Muiilfauc,on,  Diar.  Ital.  torn.  i. 


APPENDIX.  325 

has  observed  that  the  present  twins  are  modern ;  and  it  is  equally 
clear  that  there  are  marks  of  gilding  on  the  wolf,  which  might 
*herefore  he  supposed  to  make  part  of  the  ancient  group.  It  is 
known  that  the  sacred  images  of  the  Capitol  were  not  destroyed 
when  injured  by  time  or  accident,  hut  were  put  into  certain  under- 
ground depositories,  called  favissa;.*  It  may  be  thought  possible 
that  the  wolf  had  been  so  deposited,  and  had  been  replaced  in 
some  conspicuous  situation  when  the  Capitol  was  rebuilt  by 
Vespasian.  Rycquius,  without  mentioning  his  authority,  tells  that 
it  was  transferred  from  the  Comitium  to  the  Lateran,  and  thence 
brought  to  the  Capitol.  If  it  was  found  near  the  arch  of  Severus, 
it  may  have  been  one  of  the  images  which  Orosiusf  says  was 
thrown  down  in  the  Forum  by  lightning  when  Alaric  took  the 
city  That  it  is  of  very  high  antiquity  the  workmanship  is  a 
decisive  proof;  and  that  circumstance  induced  Winkelmann  to 
believe  it  the  wolf  of  Dionysius.  The  Capitoline  wolf,  however, 
may  have  been  of  the  same  early  date  as  that  at  the  temple  of 
Romulus.  Lactantiusij:  asserts  that  in  his  time  the  Romans 
worshipped  a  wolf;  and  it  is  known  that  the  Lupercalia  held  out 
to  a  very  late  period§  after  every  other  observance  of  the  ancient 
superstition  had  totally  expired.  This  may  account  for  the  pre- 
servation of  the  ancient  image  longer  than  any  other  early 
symbols  of  Paganism. 

It  may  be  permitted,  however,  to  remark,  that  the  wolf  was  a 
Roman  symbol,  but  that  the  worship  of  that  symbol  is  an  in- 
ference drawn  by  the  zeal  of  Lactantius.  The  early  Christian 
writers  are  not  to  be  trusted  in  the  charges  which  they  make 
against  the  Pagans.  Eusebius  accused  the  Romans  to  their  faces 
of  worshipping  Simon  Magus,  and  raising  a  statue  to  him  in  the 
island  of  the  Tyber.  The  Romans  had  probably  never  heard  of 
such  a  person  before,  who  came,  however,  to  play  a  considerable, 
though  scandalous  part  in  the  church  history,  and  has  left  several 


*  Luc.  Faun.  ibid. 

t  See  note  to  stanza  Ixxx.  in  "Historical  Illustrations." 

J  "  Uornuli  nutrix  Lupa  honoribus  est  affecta  divinis,  et  ferrem,  si  animal 
ipsum  fuisset,  cujns  figuram  gerit."  Lactant.  de  Falsa  Religione,  lib.  i.  cap.  xx. 
pag.  101,  edit,  varior.  1660;  that  is  to  say,  he  would  rather  adore  a  wolf  than 
a  prostitute.  His  commentator  has  observed  that  the  opinion  of  Livy  concern- 
ing Laurentia  being  figured  in  this  wolf  was  not  universal.  Strabo  thought 
so.  Rycquius  is  wrong  in  saying  that  Lactantius  mentions  the  wolf  was  in  the 
Capitol. 

$  To  A.D.  496.  "Quis  credere  possit,"  says  Baronius,  [Ann.Eccles.  torn.  viii. 
p.  602.  in  an.  496,]  "  viguisse  adhuc  Roms'ad  Gelasii  tempora,  quse  fuere  ante 
exordia  urbis  allata  in  Italian!  Lupercalia  1"  Gelasius  wrote  a  letter,  which 
occupies  four  folio  pages,  to  Andromachus  the  senator,  and  others,  to  show  that 
tli-j  riles  should  be  given  up. 


326  APPENDIX. 

tokens  of  his  aerial  combat  with  St.  Peter  at  Rome ,  notwith- 
standing that  an  inscription  found  in  this  very  island  of  the  Tyber 
showed  the  Simon  Magus  of  Eusebius  to  be  a  certain  indio-enal 

o  O 

god  called  Semo  Sangus  of  Fidius.* 

Even  when  the  worship  of  the  founder  of  Rome  had  been 
abandoned,  it  was  thought  expedient  to  humour  the  habits  of  the 
good  matrons  of  the  city,  by  sending  them -with  their  sick  infants 
to  the  church  of  Saint  Theodore,  as  they  had  before  carried  them 
to  the  temple  of  Romulus. f  The  practice  is  continued  to  this 
day :  and  the  site  of  the  above  church  seems  to  be  thereby 
identified  with  that  of  the  temple  ;  so  that  if  the  wolf  had  been 
really  found  there,  as  Winkelmann  says,  there  would  be  no  doubt 
of  the  present  statue  being  that  seen  by  Dionysius.  ButFaunus, 
in  saying  that  it  was  at  the  Ficus  Ruminalis  by  the  Comitium,  is 
only  talking  of  its  ancient  position  as  recorded  by  Pliny ;  and  even 
if  he  had  been  remarking  where  it  was  found,  would  not  have 
alluded  to  the  church  of  Saint  Theodore,  but  to  a  very  different 
place,  near  which  it  was  then  thought  the  Ficus  Ruminalis  had 
been,  and  also  the  Comitium;  that  is,  the  three  columns  by  the 
church  of  Santa  Maria  Liberatrice,  at  the  corner  of  the  Palatine 
looking  on  the  Forum. 

It  is,  in  fact,  a  mere  conjecture  where  the  image  was  actually 
dug  up ;  and  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  the  marks  of  the  gilding,  and 
of  the  lightning,  are  a  better  argument  in  favour  of  its  being  the 
Ciceronian  wolf  than  any  that  can  be  adduced  for  the  contrary 
opinion.  At  any  rate,  it  is  reasonably  selected  in  the  text  of  the 
poem  as  one  of  the  most  interesting  relics  of  the  ancient  city,^: 
and  is  certainly  the  figure,  if  not  the  very  animal  to  which  Virgil 
alludes  in  his  beautiful  verses : — 

"  Geminos  huic  ubera  circum 
Ludere  pendentes  pueros,  et  lambere  matrem 
Impavidos  :  illam  tereti  cervice  reflexam 
Mulcere  alternos,  et  corpore  fingere  lingua.§ 


*  Eccles.  Hist.  lib.  ii.  cap.  xiii.  p.  40.  Justin  Martyr  had  told  the  story  before ; 
but  Baronius  himself  was  obliged  to  detect  this  fable.  See  Nardini,  Roma  Vet. 
lib.  vii.  cap.  xii. 

t  Rione  xii.  Ripa,  accurata  e  succincta  Descrizione,  &c.  di  Roma  Moderna, 
dell'  Ab.  Ridolf.  Venuti.  1766. 

t  Donatus,lib.  xi.  cap.  IS,  gives  a  medal  representing  on  one  side  the  wolf  in 
the  same  position  as  that  in  the  Capitol ;  and  in  the  reverse  the  wolf  with  the 
bead  not  reverted.  It  is  of  the  time  of  Antoninus  Pius. 

It  JEa.  viii.  631.  See  Dr.  Middleton,  in  his  Letter  from  Rome,  who  inclines  to 
he  Ciceronian  wolf,  but  without  examining  the  subject. 


APPENDIX.  327 


No.  XXVI. — JULIUS  CJESAR. 

"  For  the  Roman's  mind 
Was  modelfd  in  a  less  terrestrial  mould" — Stanza  xc. 

It  is  possible  to  be  a  very  great  man  and  to  be  still  very  inferior 
to  Julius  Cesar,  the  most  complete  character,  so  Lord  Bacon 
thought,  of  all  antiquity.  Nature  seems  incapable  of  such  extra- 
ordinary combinations  as  composed  his  versatile  capacity,  which 
was  the  wonder  even  of  the  Romans  themselves.  The  first  gene- 
ral— the  only  triumphant  politician — inferior  to  none  in  eloquence 
— comparable  to  any  in  the  attainments  of  wisdom,  in  an  age 
made  up  of  the  greatest  commanders,  statesmen,  orators,  and 
philosophers  that  ever  appeared  in  the  world — an  author  who 
composed  a  perfect  specimen  of  military  annals  in  his  travelling 
carriage — at  one  time  in  a  controversy  with  Cato,  at  another 
writing  a  treatise  on  punning,  and  collecting  a  set  of  good  sayings 
— fighting  and  making  love  at  the  same  moment,  and  willing  to 
abandon  both  his  empire  and  his  mistress  for  a  sight  of  the 
Fountains  of  the  Nile.  Such  did  Julius  Caesar  appear  to  his 
contemporaries  and  to  those  of  the  subsequent  ages  who  were  the 
most  inclined  to  deplore  and  execrate  his  fatal  genius. 

But  we  must  not  be  so  much  dazzled  with  his  surpassing  glory, 
or  with  his  magnanimous,  his  amiable  qualities,  as  to  forget  the 
decision  of  his  impartial  countrymen  : — 

HE   WAS   JUSTLY   SLAIN.* 


No.  XXVII.— EGERIA. 

"  Egeria,  sweet  creation  of  some  heart 

Which  found  no  mortal  resting-place  so  fair 
As  thine  ideal  breast." — Stanza  cxv. 

The  respectable  authority  of  Flaminius  Vacca  would  incline  us 
to  believe  in  the  claims  of  the  Egerian  grotto. f  He  assures  us 

*  "Jure  ciesuR  existimetnr,"  says  Suetonius,  after  a  ftrr  estimate  of  his  cha- 
racter, and  making  use  of  a  phrase  which  was  a  formula  in  I-ivy's  time. 
"  Muliuin  jure  ctesiim  pronuntiavit,  etiam  si  regni  crimine  insons  fuerit  :" 
[lib.  iv.  cap.  4£:]  and  which  was  continued  in  the  legal  judgments  pronounced 
in  justifiable  homicides,  such  as  killing  housebreakers.  See  Sueton.  in  vit.  C. 
J.  CiEgar.  with  the  commentary  of  Pitiscus,  p.  184. 

t  Memorie,  Ac  ap.  Nardini,  pag.  13.    He  does  not  give  the  inscription. 


328  APPENDIX. 

that  he  saw  an  inscription  in  the  pavement,  stating  that  the 
fountain  was  that  of  Egeria,  dedicated  to  the  nymphs.  The 
inscription  is  not  there  at  this  day ;  but  Montfaucon  quotes  two 
lines*  of  Ovid  from  a  stone  in  the  Villa  Giustiniani,  which  he 
seems  to  think  had  been  brought  from  the  same  grotto. 

This  grotto  and  valley  were  formerly  frequented  in  summer, 
and  particularly  the  first  Sunday  in  May,  by  the  modern  Romans, 
who  attached  a  salubrious  quality  to  the  fountain,  which  trickles 
from  an  orifice  at  the  bottom  of  the  vault,  and,  overflowing 
the  little  pools,  creeps  down  the  matted  grass  into  the  brook 
below.  The  brook  is  the  Ovidian  Almo,  whose  name  and  quali- 
ties are  lost  in  the  modern  Aquataccio.  The  valley  itself  is 
called  Valle  di  Caflfarelli,  from  the  dukes  of  that  name  who  made 
over  their  fountain  to  the  Pallavicini,  with  sixty  rulbia  of  adjoin- 
ing land. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  this  long  dell  is  the  Egerian 
valley  of  Juvenal,  and  the  pausing-place  of  Umbritius,  notwith- 
standing the  generality  of  his  commentators  have  supposed  the 
descent  of  the  satirist  and  his  friend  to  have  been  into  theArician 
grove,  where  the  nymph  met  Hippolitus,  and  where  she  was  more 
peculiarly  worshipped. 

The  step  from  the  Porta  Capena  to  the  Albanhill,  fifteen  miles 
distant,  would  be  too  considerable,  unless  we  were  to  believe  in 
the  wild  conjecture  of  Vossius,  who  makes  that  gate  travel  from 
its  present  station,  where  he  pretends  it  was  during  the  reign  of 
the  kings,  as  far  as  the  Arician  grove,  and  then  makes  it  recede 
to  its  old  site  with  the  shrinking  city.f  The  tufo,  or  pumice 
which  the  poet  prefers  to  marble,  is  the  substance  composing  the 
bank  in  which  the  grotto  is  sunk. 

The  modern  topographers^:  find  in  the  grotto  the  statue  of  the 
nymph,  and  nine  niches  for  the  Muses ;  and  a  late  traveller§  has 
discovered  that  the  cave  is  restored  to  that  simplicity  which  the 
poet  regretted  had  been  exchanged  for  injudicious  ornament.  But 
the  headless  statue  is  palpably  rather  a  male  than  a  nymph,  and 


*  "In  villa  Justiniana  extat  ingens  lapis  quadratus  solidus,  in  quo  sculpla 
hiEC  duo  Ovidii  carmina  sunt : — 

'  Egeria  est  qure  prcebet  aquas  dea  grata  Camcenis 

Ilia  Numce  conjunx  consiliumque  fuit.' 

Qui  lapis  videtur  eodem  Egerhe  fonte,  aut  ejus  vicinia  isthuc  comportatus." 
Diarium  Italic,  p.  153. 

t  De  Magnit.  Vet.  Rom.  ap.  GroBV.  An.  Rom.  torn.  iv.  p.  1507. 

J  Echinard,  Descrizione  di  Roma  e  dell'  Agro  Romano,  corretto  dalP  Abate 
Venuti,  in  Roma,  1750.  They  believe  in  the  grotto  and  nymph.  "Simulacro 
<ii  qnesto  fonte,  essendovi  sculpite  le  acque  a  pie  di  esso." 

$  Classical  Tour,  chap.  vi.  p.  217.  vol.  ii. 


APPENDIX.  329 

has  none  of  the  attributes  ascribed  to  it  at  present  visible.  The 
nine  Muses  could  hardly  have  stood  in  six  niches ;  and  Juvenal 
certainly  does  not  allude  to  any  individual  cave.*  Nothing  can 
be  collected  from  the  satirist  but  that  somewhere  near  the  Porta 
Capena  was  a  spot  in  which  it  was  supposed  Numa  held  nightly 
consultations  with  his  nymph,  and  where  there  was  a  grove  and 
a  sacred  fountain,  and  fanes  once  consecrated  to  the  Muses ;  and 
that  from  this  spot  there  was  a  descent  into  the  valley  of  Egeria, 
where  were  several  artificial  caves.  It  is  clear  that  the  statues 
of  the  Muses  made  no  part  of  the  decoration  which  the  satirist 
thought  misplaced  in  these  caves ;  for  he  expressly  assigns  other 
fanes  (delubra)  to  these  divinities  above  the  valley,  and  moreover 
tells  us  that  they  had  been  ejected  to  make  room  for  the  Jews. 
In  fact,  the  little  temple,  now  called  that  of  Bacchus,  was  formerly 
thought  to  belong  to  the  Muses,  and  Nardini f  places  them  in  a 
poplar  grove,  which  was  in  his  time  above  the  valley. 

It  is  probable,  from  the  inscription  and  position,  that  the  cave 
now  shown  may  be  one  of  the  "  artificial  caverns,"  of  which, 
indeed,  there  is  another  a  little  way  higher  up  the  valley,  under 
a  tuft  of  alder  bushes :  but  a  single  grotto  of  Egeria  is  a  mere 
modern  invention,  grafted  upon  the  application  of  the  epithet 
Egerian  to  these  nymphea  in  general,  and  which  might  send  us 
to  look  for  the  haunts  of  Numa  upon  the  banks  of  the  Thames. 

Our  English  Juvenal  was  not  seduced  into  mistranslation  by 
his  acquaintance  with  Pope :  he  carefully  preserves  the  correct 
plural— 

"  Thence  slowly  winding  down  the  vale,  we  view 
The  Egerian  grots .•  oh,  how  unlike  the  true !" 

The  valley  abounds  with  springs,}:  and  over  these  springs, 
which  the  Muses  might  haunt  from  their  neighbouring  groves, 
Egeria  presided  :  hence  she  was  said  to  supply  them  with  water ; 
and  she  was  the  nymph  of  the  grottos  through  which  the  fountains 
were  taught  to  flow. 

The  whole  of  the  monuments  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Egerian 
valley  have  received  names  at  will,  which  have  been  changed  at 
will.  Venuti§  owns  he  can  see  no  traces  of  the  temples  of  Jove, 
Saturn,  Juno,  Venus,  and  Diana,  which  Nardini  found,  or  hoped 
to  find.  The  mutatorium  of  Caracalla's  circus,  the  temple  of 


*  Sat.  in. 

t  Lib.  iii.  cap.  iii. 

t  "  Undique  e  solo  aquae  scaturiiint."    Nardini,  lib.  iii.  cap.  111. 
$  Echinard,  &.c.  Cic.  cit.  p.  297,  298. 
28» 


330  APPENDIX. 

Honour  and  Virtue,  the  temple  of  Bacchus,  and,  ahove  all,  the 
temple  of  the  god  Rediculus,  are  the  antiquaries'  despair. 

The  circus  of  Caracalla  depends  on  a  medal  of  that  emperor 
cited  by  Fulvius  Ursinus,  of  which  the  reverse  shows  a  circus, 
supposed,  however,  by  some  to  represent  the  Circus  Maximus. 
It  gives  a  very  good  idea  of  that  place  of  exercise.  The  soil  has 
been  but  little  raised,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  small  cellular 
structure  at  the  end  of  the  Spina,  which  was  probably  the  chapel 
of  the  god  Consus.  This  cell  is  half  beneath  the  soil,  as  it  must 
have  been  in  the  circus  itself;  for  Dionysius*  could  not  be  per- 
suaded to  believe  that  this  divinity  was  the  Roman  Neptune, 
because  his  altar  was  under  ground. 


No.  XXVIII.— THE  ROMAN  NEMESIS. 

"  Great  Nemesis  ! 
Here,  where  the  ancient  paid  thee  homage  long." 

Stanza  cxxxii. 

We  read  in  Suetonius,  that  Augustus,  from  a  warning  received 
in  a  dream,|  counterfeited,  once  a  year,  the  beggar,  sitting  before 
the  gate  of  his  palace  with  his  hand  hollowed  and  stretched  out 
for  charity.  A  statue  formerly  in  the  villa  Borghese,  and  which 
should  be  now  at  Paris,  represents  the  emperor  in  that  posture 
of  supplication.  The  object  of  this  self-degradation  was  the 
appeasement  of  Nemesis,  the  perpetual  attendant  on  good  fortune, 
of  whose  power  the  Roman  conquerors  were  also  reminded  by 
certain  symbols  attached  to  their  cars  of  triumph.  The  symbols 
were  the  whip  and  the  crotalo,  which  were  discovered  in  the 
Nemesis  of  the  Vatican.  The  attitude  of  beggary  made  the  above 
statue  pass  for  that  of  Belisarius :  and  until  the  criticism  of 
Winkelmann^:  had  rectified  the  mistake,  one  fiction  was  called 


*  Antiq.  Rom.  lib.  ii.  cap.  xxxi. 

t  Sueton.  in  vit.  Augusti,  cap.  91.  Casaubon,  in  the  note,  refers  to  Plutarch's 
Lives  of  Camillas  and  ^Emilius  Paulus,  and  also  to  his  apophthegms,  for  the 
character  of  this  deity.  The  hollowed  hand  was  reckoned  the  last  degree  of 
degradation ;  and  when  the  dead  body  of  the  praefect  Rufinus  was  borne  about 
in  triumph  by  the  people,  the  indignity  was  increased  by  putting  his  hand  in  that 
position. 

t  Storia  delle  Arti,  &c.  lib.  xii.  cap.  iii.  torn.  ii.  p.  422.  Visconti  calls  the 
statue,  however,  a  Cybele.  It  is  given  in  the  Museo  Pio-clement.  torn.  i.  par 


APPENDIX.  331 

in  to  support  another.  It  was  the  same  fear  of  the  sudden  termi- 
nation of  prosperity  that  made  Amasis  king  of  Egypt  warn  his 
friend  Polycrates  of  Samos,  that  the  gods  loved  those  whose  lives 
were  checkered  with  good  and  evil  fortunes.  Nemesis  was  sup- 
posed to  lie  in  wait  particularly  for  the  prudent ;  that  is,  for  those 
whose  caution  rendered  them  accessible  only  to  mere  accidents : 
and  her  first  altar  was  raised  on  the  banks  of  the  Phrygian 
jEsepus  by  Adrastus,  probably  the  prince  of  that  name  who 
killed  the  son  of  Croesus  by  mistake.  Hence  the  goddess  was 
called  Adrastea.* 

The  Roman  Nemesis  was  sacred  and  august.-  there  was  a 
temple  to  her  in  the  Palatine  under  the  name  of  Rhamnusia:]" 
so  great,  indeed,  was  the  propensity  of  the  ancients  to  trust  to  the 
revolution  of  events,  and  to  believe  in  the  divinity  of  Fortune, 
that  in  the  same  Palatine  there  was  a  temple  to  the  Fortune  of 
the  day.^  This  is  the  last  superstition  which  retains  its  hold  over 
the  human  heart;  and,  from  concentrating  in  one  object  the 
credulity  so  natural  to  man,  has  always  appeared  strongest  in 
those  unembarrassed  by  other  articles  of  belief.  The  antiquaries 
have  supposed  this  goddess  to  be  synonymous  with  Fortune  and 
with  Fate :  but  it  was  in  her  vindictive  quality  that  she  was 
worshipped  under  the  name  of  Nemesis. 


No.  XXIX. — GLADIATORS. 

"  Ffe,  their  sire. 
Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday."— Stanza  cxli. 

Gladiators  were  of  two  kinds,  compelled  and  voluntary ;  and 
were  supplied  from  several  conditions; — from  slaves  sold  for  that 

40.  The  Abate  Fea  (Spiegazione  dei  Kami.  Storia,  &c.  torn.  iii.  p.  513)  calls 
it  a  Clirisippus. 

*  Diet,  de  Bayle,  article  Adrastea. 

+  It  is  enumerated  by  the  regionary  Victor. 

t  Fortunae  hujusce  diei.    Cicero  mentions  her,  de  Legib.  lib.  ii. 

DEAE  SEMESI 

S1VE    FOBTBNAE 

PISTORIV8 

BVGIANV8 

V.  C.  LEGAT. 

LEO.  XIII.  O. 

CORD. 

See  Questiones  Romans,  &c.  ap.  Grzv.  Antiq.  Rom.  torn.  v.  p.  942.  Bee  also 
Muratori,  Nov.  Thesaur.  Inscrip.  Vet.  torn.  i.  p.  88,  89,  where  there  are  thrs« 
Latin  and  one  Greek  inscription  to  Nemesis,  and  others  to  Fate. 


332  APPENDIX. 

purpose;  from  culprits  ;  from  barbarian  captives  either  taken  in 
war,  and,  after  being  led  in  triumph,  set  apart  for  the  games,  or 
those  seized  and  condemned  as  rebels ;  also  from  free  citizens, 
some  fighting  for  hire,  (auctorati,')  others  from  a  depraved  ambi- 
tion ;  at  last  even  knights  and  senators  were  exhibited, — a  disgrace 
of  which  the  first  tyrant  was  naturally  the  first  inventor.*  In  the 
end,  dwarfs,  and  even  women  fought;  an  enormity  prohibited  by 
Severus.  Of  these,  the  most  to  be  pitied,  undoubtedly,  were  the 
barbarian  captives  ;  and  to  this  species  a  Christian  writer^  justly 
applies  the  epithet  "innocent,"  to  distinguish  them  from  the 
professional  gladiators.  Aurelian  and  Claudius  supplied  great 
numbers  of  these  unfortunate  victims ;  the  one  after  his  triumph, 
and  the  other  on  the  pretext  of  a  rebellion.^:  No  war,  says 
Lipsius,§  was  ever  so  destructive  to  the  human  race  as  these 
sports.  In  spite  of  the  laws  of  Constantine  and  Constans, 
gladiatorial  shows  survived  the  old  established  religion  more  than 
seventy  years ;  but  they  owed  their  final  extinction  to  the  courage 
of  a  Christian.  In  the  year  404,  on  the  kalends  of  January,  they 
were  exhibiting  the  shows  in  the  Flavian  amphitheatre  before  the 
usual  immense  concourse  of  people.  Almachius,  or  Telemachus, 
an  eastern  monk,  who  had  travelled  to  Rome  intent  on  his  holy 
purpose,  rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  area,  and  endeavoured  to 
separate  the  combatants.  The  praetor  Alypius,  a  person  incredibly 
attached  to  these  games,||  gave  instant  orders  to  the  gladiators  to 
slay  him ;  and  Telemachus  gained  the  crown  of  martyrdom  and 
the  title  of  saint,  which  surely  has  never  either  before  or  since 
been  awarded  for  a  more  noble  exploit.  Honorius  immediately 
abolished  the  shows,  which  were  never  afterwards  revived.  The 
story  is  told  by  Theodoret^f  and  Cassiodorus,**  and  seems 
worthy  of  credit  notwithstanding  its  place  in  the  Roman  martyr- 
ology. •(••(•  Besides  the  torrents  of  blood  which  flowed  at  the 
funerals  in  the  amphitheatres,  the  circus,  the  forums,  and  other 
public  places,  gladiators  were  introduced  at  feasts,  and  tore  each 


*  Julius  Ctesar,  who  rose  by  the  fall  of  the  aristocracy,  brought  Furius  Lep- 
tinus  and  A.  Calenus  upon  the  arena. 

t  Tertullian,  "certe  quidem  et  innocentes  gladiatores  in  ludum  veniunt,  et 
voluptatis  publics  hostile  fiant."  Just.  Lips.  Saturn.  Sermon,  lib.  li.  cap.  iii. 

t  Vopiscus,  in  vit.  Aurel.  and  in  vit.  Claud,  ibid. 

$  Just.  Lips.  ibid.  lib.  i.  cap.  xii. 

II  Augustinus  (lib.  vi.  confess,  cap.  viii.)  "  Alypiumsuum  gladiatorii  spectaculi 
inhiatu  incredibiliter  abreptum,"  scribit.  ib.  lib.  i.  cap.  xii. 

IT  Hist.  Eccles.  cap.  xxvi.  lib.  v. 

**  Cassiod.  Tripartita,  1.  x.  c.  xi.  Saturn,  ib.  ib. 

Tt  Baronius,  ad  ann.  et  in  notis  ad  Martyrol.  Rom.  I.  Jan.  See— Marangon 
delle  memorie  sacre  e  profane  dell'  Anfiteatro  Flavio,  p.  25,  edit.  1746. 


APPENDIX.  333 

other  to  pieces  amidst  the  supper  tables,  to  the  great  delight,  and 
applause  of  the  guests.  Yet  Lipsius  permits  himself  to  sup- 
pose the  loss  of  courage,  and  the  evident  degeneracy  of  mankind, 
to  be  nearly  connected  with  the  abolition  of  these  bloody  spec- 
tacles. 


No.  XXX. 

"  He  re,  where  the  Roman  million's  blame  or  praise 

Was  death  or  life,  the  playthings  of  a  crowd." — Stanza  cxlii. 

When  one  gladiator  wounded  another,  he  shouted, "  he  has  it," 
"  hoc  habet,"  or  "  habet."  The  wounded  combatant  dropped  his 
weapon,  and  advancing  to  the  edge  of  the  arena,  supplicated  the 
spectators.  If  he  had  fought  well,  the  people  saved  him ;  if 
otherwise,  or  as  they  happened  to  be  inclined,  they  turned  down 
their  thumbs,  and  he  was  slain.  They  were  occasionally  so 
savage  that  they  were  impatient  if  a  combat  lasted  longer  than 
ordinary  without  wounds  or  death.  The  emperor's  presence  ge- 
nerally saved  the  vanquished ;  and  it  is  recorded  as  an  instance 
of  Caracalla's  ferocity,  that  he  sent  those  who  supplicated  him 
for  life,  in  a  spectacle,  at  Nicomedia,  to  ask  the  people;  in  other 
words,  handed  them  over  to  be  slain.  A  similar  ceremony  is 
observed  at  the  Spanish  bull-fights.  The  magistrate  presides ; 
and  after  the  horsemen  and  piccadores  have  fought  the  bull,  the 
matadore  steps  forward  and  bows  to  him  for  permission  to  kill  the 
animal.  If  the  bull  has  done  his  duty  by  killing  two  or  three 
horses,  or  a  man,  which  last  is  rare,  the  people  interfere  with 
shouts,  the  ladies  wave  their  handkerchiefs,  and  the  animal  is 
saved.  The  wounds  and  death  of  the  horses  are  accompanied 
with  the  loudest  acclamations,  and  many  gestures  of  delight, 
especially  from  the  female  portion  of  the  audient^s,  including 
those  of  the  gentlest  blood.  Every  thing  depends  on  habit  The 
author  of  Childe  Harold,  the  author  of  this  note,  and  one  or  two 
other  Englishmen,  who  have  certainly  in  other  days  borne  the 
sight  of  a  pitched  battle,  were,  during  the  summer  of  1809,  in  the 
governor's  box  at  the  great  amphitheatre  of  Santa  Maria,  opposite 
to  Cadiz.  The  death  of  one  or  two  horses  completely  satisfied 
their  curiosity.  A  gentleman  present,  observing  them  shudder 


334  APPENDIX. 

and  look  pale,  noticed  that  unusual  reception  of  so  delightful  a 
sport  to  some  young  ladies,  who  stared  and  smiled,  and  continued 
their  applauses  as  another  horse  fell  bleeding  to  the  ground. 
One  bull  killed  three  horses  off  his  own  horns.  He  was  saved  by 
acclamations,  which  were  redoubled  when  it  was  known  he  be- 
longed to  a  priest. 

An  Englishman,  who  can  be  much  pleased  with  seeing  two  men 
beat  themselves  to  pieces,  cannot  bear  to  look  at  a  horse  galloping 
round  an  arena  with  his  bowels  trailing  on  the  ground,  and  turns 
from  the  spectacle  and  the  spectators  with  horror  and  disgust 


No.  XXXI.— THE  ALBAN  HILL. 

"And  afar 

TJie  Tiber  winds,  and  the  broad  ocean  laves 
The  Latian  coast,  $~c.  $~c.  Stanza  clxxiv. 

The  whole  declivity  of  the  Alban  hill  is  of  unrivalled  beauty, 
and  from  the  convent  on  the  highest  point,  which  has  succeeded 
to  the  temple  of  the  Latian  Jupiter,  the  prospect  embraces  all  the 
objects  alluded  to  in  the  cited  stanza ;  the  Mediterranean ;  the 
whole  scene  of  the  latter  half  of  the  ^Eneid,  and  the  coast  from 
beyond  the  mouth  of  the  Tiber  to  the  headland  of  Circaeum  and 
the  Cape  of  Terracina. 

The  site  of  Cicero's  villa  may  be  supposed  either  at  the  Grotto 
Ferrata,  or  at  the  Tusculum  of  Prince  Lucien  Bonaparte. 

The  former  was  thought  some  years  ago  the  actual  site,  as  may 
be  seen  from  Myddleton's  Life  of  Cicero.  At  present  it  has  lost 
something  of  its  credit,  except  for  the  Domenichinos.  Nine 
monks  of  the  Greek  order  live  there,  and  the  adjoining  villa  is  a 
cardinal's  summer-house.  The  other  villa,  called  Rufinella,  is  on 
the  summit  of  the  hill  above  Frascati,  and  many  rich  remains  of 
Tusculum  have  been  found  there,  besides  seventy-two  statues  of 
different  merit  and  preservation,  and  seven  busts. 

From  the  same  eminence  are  seen  the  Sabine  hills,  embosomed 
in  which  lies  the  long  valley  of  Rustica.  There  are  several  cir- 
cumstances which  tend  to  establish  the  identity  of  this  valley 
with  the  "Z7s<j'ca"  of  Horace;  and  it  seems  possible  that  the 
mosaic  pavement  which  the  peasants  uncover  by  throwing  up  the 


APPENDIX.  335 


earth  of  a  vineyard  may  belong  to  his  villa.  Rustica  is  pro- 
nounced short,  not  according  to  our  stress  upon — "Usticaecu- 
bantis." — It  is  more  rational  to  think  that  we  are  wrong,  than  that 
the  inhabitants  of  this  secluded  valley  have  changed  their  tone 
in  this  word.  The  addition  of  the  consonant  prefixed  is  no- 
thing; yet  it  is  necessary  to  be  aware  that  Rustica  may  be  a  modern 
name  which  the  peasants  may  have  caught  from  the  antiquaries. 
The  villa,  or  the  mosaic,  is  in  the  vineyard  on  a  knoll  covered 
with  chestnut  trees.  A  stream  runs  down  the  valley ;  and 
although  it  is  not  true,  as  said  in  the  guide  books,  that  this  stream 
is  called  Licenza,  yet  there  is  a  village  on  a  rock  at  the  head  of 
the  valley  which  is  so  denominated,  and  which  may  have  taken 
its  name  from  the  Digentia.  Licenza  contains  700  inhabitants. 
On  a  peak  a  little  way  beyond  is  Civitella,  containing  300.  On 
the  banks  of  the  Anio,  a  little  before  you  turn  up  into  Valle 
Rustica  to  the  left,  about  an  hour  from  the  villa,  is  a  town  called 
Vicovaro,  another  favourable  coincidence  with  the  Varia  of  the 
poet.  At  the  end  of  the  valley,  towards  the  Anio,  there  is  a  bare 
hill,  crowned  with  a  little  town  called  Bardela.  At  the  foot  of 
this  hill  the  rivulet  Licenza  flows,  and  is  almost  absorbed  in  a 
wide  sandy  bed  before  it  reaches  the  Anio.  Nothing  can  be  more 
fortunate  for  the  lines  of  the  poet,  whether  in  a  metaphorical  or 
direct  sense : — 

"  Me  quotiens  reficit  gelidus  Digentia  rivus, 
Quern  Mandela  bibit  rugosus  frigore  pagus. 

The  stream  is  clear  high  up  the  valley,  but  before  it  reaches  the 
hill  of  Bardela  looks  green  and  yellow,  like  a  sulphur  rivulet. 

Rocca  Giovane,  a  ruined  village  in  the  hills,  half  an  hour's 
walk  from  the  vineyard  where  the  pavement  is  shown,  does  seem 
to  be  the  site  of  the  fane  of  Vacuna,  and  an  inscription  found 
there  tells  that  this  temple  of  the  Sabine  Victory  was  repaired  by 
Vespasian.  With  these  helps,  and  a  position  corresponding 
exactly  to  every  thing  which  the  poet  has  told  us  of  his  retreat, 
we  may  feel  tolerably  secure  of  our  site. 

The  hill  which  should  be  Lucretilis  is  called  Campanile,  and 
by  following  up  the  rivulet  to  the  pretended  Bandusia,  you  come 
to  the  roots  of  the  higher  mountain  Gennaro.  Singularly  enough, 
the  only  spot  of  ploughed  land  in  the  whole  vallay  is  on  the  knoll 
where  this  Bandusia  rises. 

" .  .  .  .  tu  fiigus  amabile 
Fessis  vomere  tauris 
Prsebes,  et  pecori  vago." 


336  APPENDIX. 

The  peasants  show  another  spring  near  the  mosaic  pavement 
which  they  call  "  Oradina,"  and  which  flows  down  the  hills  into 
a  tank,  or  mill-dam,  and  thence  trickles  over  into  the  Digentia. 
But  we  must  not  hope 

"  To  trace  the  Muses  upwards  to  their  spring," 

by  exploring  the  windings  of  the  romantic  valley  in  search  of  th 
Bandusian  fountain.  It  seems  strange  that  any  one  should  have 
thought  Bandusia  a  fountain  of  the  Digentia — Horace  has  not 
let  drop  a  word  of  it ;  and  this  immortal  spring  has  in  fact  been 
discovered  in  possession  of  the  holders  of  many  good  things  in 
Italy,  the  monks.  It  was  attached  to  the  church  of  St.  Gervais 
and  Protais  near  Venusia,  where  it  was  most  likely  to  be  found.* 
We  shall  not  be  so  lucky  as  a  late  traveller  in  rinding  the  occa- 
sional pine  still  pendant  on  the  poetic  villa.  There  is  not  a  pine 
in  the  whole  valley,  but  there  are  two  cypresses,  which  he  evi- 
dently took,  or  mistook,  for  the  tree  in  the  ode.f  The  truth  is, 
that  the  pine  is  now,  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  Virgil,  a  garden 
tree,  and  it  was  not  at  all  likely  to  be  found  in  the  craggy  accli- 
vities of  the  valley  of  Rustica.  Horace  probably  had  one  of  them 
in  the  orchard  close  above  his  farm,  immediately  overshadowing 
his  villa,  not  on  the  rocky  heights  at  some  distance  from  his 
abode.  The  tourist  may  have  easily  supposed  himself  to  have 
seen  this  pine  figured  in  the  above  cypresses ;  for  the  orange  and 
lemon  trees  which  throw  such  a  bloom  over  his  description  of 
the  royal  gardens  at  Naples,  unless  they  have  been  since  dis- 
placed, were  assuredly  only  acacias  and  other  common  garden 
shrubs.:}: 


No.  XXXII. — EUSTACE'S  CLASSICAL  TOUR. 

.The  extreme  disappointment  experienced  by  choosing  the 
Classical  Tourist  as  a  guide  in  Italy  must  be  allowed  to  find  vent 
in  a  few  observations,  which,  it  is  asserted  without  fear  of  contra- 


See  Historical  Illustrations  of  the  Fourth  Canto,  p.  43.' 

t  See  Classical  Tour,  &c.  chap.  vii.  p.  250,  vol.  ii. 

t  "  Under  our  windows,  and  bordering  on  the  beach,  is  the  royal  garden,  laid 
out  in  parterres,  and  walks  shaded  by  rows  of  orange  trees."— Classical  Tour, 
&c.  chap  xi.  vol.  ii.  oct.  365. 


APPENDIX.  337 

diction,  will  be  confirmed  by  every  one  who  has  selected  the 
same  conductor  through  the  same  country.  This  author  is  in 
fact  one  of  the  most  inaccurate,  unsatisfactory  writers  that  have 
in  our  times  attained  a  temporary  reputation,  and  is  very  seldom 
to  be  trusted  even  when  he  speaks  of  objects  which  he  must  be 
presumed  to  have  seen.  His  errors,  from  the  simple  exaggera- 
tion to  the  downright  misstatement,  are  so  frequent  as  to  induce 
a  suspicion  that  he  had  either  never  visited  the  spots  described, 
or  had  trusted  to  the  fidelity  of  former  writers.  Indeed,  the 
Classical  Tour  has  every  characteristic  of  a  mere  compilation  of 
former  notices,  strung  together  upon  a  very  slender  thread  of  per- 
sonal observation,  and  swelled  out  by  those  decorations  which  are 
so  easily  supplied  by  a  systematic  adoption  of  all  the  common- 
places of  praise,  applied  to  every  thing,  and  therefore  signifying 
nothing. 

The  style  which  one  person  thinks  cloggy  and  cumbrous,  and 
unsuitable,  may  be  to  the  taste  of  others,  and  such  may  expe- 
rience some  salutary  excitement  in  ploughing  through  the  periods 
of  the  Classical  Tour.  It  must  be  said,  however,  that  polish  and 
weight  are  apt  to  beget  an  expectation  of  value.  It  is  amongst 
the  pains  of  theniamned  to  toil  up  a  climax  with  a  huge  round 
stone. 

The  tourist  had  the  choice  of  his  words,  but  there  was  no  such 
latitude  allowed  to  that  of  his  sentiments.  The  love  of  virtue 
and  of  liberty,  which  must  have  distinguished  the  character, 
certainly  adorns  the  prsges  of  Mr.  Eustace ;  and  the  gentlemanly 
spirit,  so  recommendatory  either  in  an  author  or  his  productions, 
is  very  conspicuous  throughout  the  Classical  Tour.  But  these 
generous  qualities  are  the  foliage  of  such  a  performance,  and  may 
be  spread  about  it  so  prominently  and  profusely,  as  to  embarrass 
those  who  wish  to  see  and  find  the  fruit  at  hand.  The  unction 
of  the  divine,  and  the  exhortations  of  the  moralist,  may  have  made 
this  work  something  more  and  better  than  a  book  of  travels,  hut 
they  have  not  made  it  a  book  of  travels ;  and  this  observation 
applies  more  especially  to  that  enticing  method  of  instruction 
conveyed  by  the  perpetual  introduction  of  the  same  Gallic  Helo 
to  reel  and  bluster  before  the  rising  generation,  and  terrify  it  into 
decency  by  the  display  of  all  the  excesses  of  the  revolution.  An 
animosity  against  atheists  and  regicides  in  general,  and  French- 
men specifically,  may  be  honourable,  and  may  be  useful  as  a 
record ;  but  that  antidote  should  either  be  administered  in  any 
work  rather  than  a  tour,  or,  at  least,  should  be  served  up  apart, 
and  not  so  mixed  with  the  whole  mass  of  information  and  reflec 


338  APPENDIX. 

tion,  as  to  give  a  bitterness  to  every  page  :  for  who  would  choose 
to  have  the  antipathies  of  any  man,  however  just,  for  his  travel- 
ling companions  1  A  tourist,  unless  he  aspires  to  the  credit  of 
prophecy,  is  not  answerable  for  the  changes  which  may  take  place 
in  the  country  which  he  describes ;  but  his  reader  may  very  fairly 
esteem  all  his  political  portraits  and  deductions  as  so  much  waste 
paper,  the  moment  they  cease  to  assist,  and  more  particularly  if 
they  obstruct,  his  actual  survey. 

Neither  encomium  nor  accusation  of  any  government,  01 
governors,  is  meant  to  be  here  offered ;  but  it  is  stated  as  an 
incontrovertible  fact,  that  the  change  operated,  either  by  the 
address  of  the  late  imperial  system,  or  by  the  disappointment  of 
every  expectation  by  those  who  have  succeeded  to  the  Italian 
thrones,  has  been  so  considerable,  and  so  apparent,  as  not  only 
to  put  Mr.  Eustace's  antigallican  philippics  entirely  out  of  date, 
but  even  to  throw  some  suspicion  upon  the  competency  and 
candour  of  the  author  himself.  A  remarkable  example  may  be 
found  in  the  instance  of  Bologna,  over  whose  papal  attachments, 
and  consequent  desolation,  the  tourist  pours  forth  such  strains  of 
condolence  and  revenge,  made  louder  by  the  borrowed  trumpet 
of  Mr.  Burke.  Now  Bologna  is  at  this  moment,  and  has  been 
for  some  years,  notorious  amongst  the  states  of  Italy  for  its  at- 
tachment to  revolutionary  principles,  and  was  almost  the  only 
city  which  made  any  demonstrations  in  favour  of  the  unfortunate 
Murat.  This  change  may,  however,  have  been  made  since  Mr. 
Eustace  visited  this  country ;  but  the  traveller  Whom  he  has 
thrilled  with  horror  at  the  projected  stripping  of  the  copper  from 
the  cupola  of  St.  Peter's,  must  be  much  relieved  to  find  that  sa- 
crilege out  of  the  power  of  the  French,  or  any  other  plunderers, 
the  cupola  being  covered  with  lead.* 

If  the  conspiring  voice  of  otherwise  rival  critics  had  not  given 
considerable  currency  to  the  Classical  Tour,  it  would  have  been 
unnecessary  to  warn  the  reader,  that  however  it  may  adorn  his 
library,  it  will  be  of  little  or  no  service  to  him  in  his  carriage ; 
and  if  the  judgment  of  those  critics  had  hitherto  been  suspended, 
no  attempt  would  have  been  made  to  anticipate  their  decision. 
As  it  is,  those  who  stand  in  the  relation  of  posterity  to  Mr. 
Eustace  may  be  permitted  to  appeal  from  contemporary  praises, 

*  "What,  then,  will  be  the  astonishment,  or  rather  horror,  of  my  reader, 

when  I  inform  him the  French  Committee  turned  its  attention  to 

Saint  Peter's,  and  employed  a  company  of  Jews  to  estimate  and  purchase  the 
gold,  silver,  and  bronze  that  adorn  the  inside  of  the  edifice,  as  welt  as  the  copper 
that  covers  the  vault  and  dome  on  the  outside."  Chap.  iv.  p.  130,  vol.  ii.  The 
itory  about  the  Jews  is  positively  denied  at  Rome. 


APPENDIX.  339 

and  are  perhaps  more  likely  to  be  just  in  proportion  as  the  cause 
of  love  and  hatred  are  the  farther  removed.  This  appeal  had,  in 
some  measure,  been  made  before  the  above  remarks  were  written ; 
for  one  of  the  most  respectable  of  the  Florentine  publishers,  who  had 
been  persuaded  by  the  repeated  inquiries  of  those  on  their  journey 
southwards,  to  reprint  a  cheap  edition  of  the  ClassicalTour,  was, 
by  the  concurring  advice  of  returning  travellers,  induced  to 
abandon  his  design,  although  he  had  already  arranged  his  types 
and  paper,  and  had  struck  off  one  or  two  of  the  first  sheets. 

The  writer  of  these  notes  would  wish  to  part  (like  Mr.  Gibbon') 
on  good  terms  with  the  Pope  and  the  Cardinals,  but  he  does  not. 
think  it  necessary  to  extend  the  same  discreet  silence  to  their 
humble  partisans. 


END    OF    CHILDE    HAROLD. 


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Messenger. 


Analytical  Chemist's  Assistant . 

A  Manual  of  Chemical  Analysis,  both  Qualitative  and  Quantita- 
tive, of  Natural  and  Artificial  Inorganic  Compounds ;  to 
which  are  appended  the  Rules  for  Detecting  Arsenic  in  a 
Case  of  Poisoning.  By  FREDERICK  WCEHLKR,  Professor  of 
Chemistry  in  the  University  of  GLottingen.  Translated  from 
the  German,  with  an  Introduction,  Illustrations,  and  co- 
pious Additions,  by  OSCAR  M.  LIEBER,  Author  of  the  "  As- 
Bayer's  Guide."  In  One  Volume,  12mo $1.25 

"The  character  of  W(F.ni.ER  is  a  sufficient  gunrnntea  that  this  work  will  proT<» 
wttat  it  claims  to  bo." — Providence  Daily  Journal. 


HENRY  CAEEY  BAIRD'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Barnard — Connecticut     Common    School 

Journal,  f font,  1838  to  1842. 
Edited  by  HENBY  BARNARD.     la  one,  two,  or  four  vols.  ...§3.00 

Barnard — History  of  the  System  of  Com- 
mon Schools,  and  other  Means  of  Popular  Education 
in  Connecticut,  from  1638  to  1844.  600  pp $2.00 

Barnard — Journal  of  Rhode  Island  Insti- 
tute of  Instruction, 

Including  Mr.  Barnard's  Reports  on  the  History  and  Improve- 
ment of  the  Public  Schools  of  Rhode  Island,  from  1845  to 
1848.  Three  volumes $3.50 

Barnard — Legal  Provision  respecting  the 

Education  and  .Employment  of  Children  in  facto- 
ries and  Manufacturing  Establishments.  84  pp. . .  50  cts. 

Barnard — Life  of  Thomas  H.  Gallaudet; 

With  a  History  of  Deaf  Mute  Instruction,  &e.,  268  pp $1.00 

Barnard — National  Education  in  Europe : 

Being  an  Account  of  the  Organization,  Administration,  In- 
struction, and  Statistics  of  Public  Schools,  of  different 
grades,  in  the  Principal  States.  By  HENRY  BARNARD, 
Second  edition,  8vo $3.00 

Barnard — Normal  Schools;  or,  Institu- 
tions, Agencies,  and  Means  for  the  Professional 
Education  and  Improvement  of  Teachers,  in  Europe 
and  the  United  States.  650pp $2.00 

Barnard — Practical  Illustrations  of  the 

Principles  of  School  Architecture.     176  pp 75  eta. 

Barnard — School  Architecture  • 

Or,  Contributions  to  the  Improvement  of  School  Houses  in 
the  United  States.  By  HENRY  BARNARD,  Superintendent 
Common  Schools  in  Connecticut.  5th  edition,  8vo..  $2.00 


HZSHIY  CAREY  BAIRD'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Booth  and  Morfit — -The  Encyclopedia  of 

Chemistry,  Practical  and  Theoretical : 
Embracing  its  application  to  the  Arts,  Metallurgy,  Mineralogy, 
Geology,  Medicine,  and  Pharmacy.  By  JAMES  C.  BOOTH, 
Melter  and  Refiner  in  the  United  States  Mint;  Professor 
of  Applied  Chemistry  in  the  Franklin  Institute,  &c. ;  as- 
sisted by  CAMPBELL  MORFIT,  author  of  "  Chemical  Mani- 
pulations," &c.  Complete  in  one  volume,  royal  octavo, 
978  pages,  with  numerous  wood  cuts  and  other  illustra- 
tions  $5.00 

"  It  covers  the  whole  field  of  Chemistry  as  applied  to  Arts  and  Sciences.  *  *  * 
As  no  library  is  complete  without  a  common  dictionary,  it  is  also  our  opinion 
that  none  can  be  without  this  Encyclopedia  of  Chemistry." — Scientific  Ame- 
rican. 

"  A  work  of  time  and  labour,  and  a  treasury  of  chemical  information." — North 
American. 

"  By  far  the  best  manual  of  the  kind  which  has  been  presented  to  the  Ameri- 
can public," — Boston  Courier. 

Brewer ;  ( The  Complete  Practical) 

Or,  Plain,  Concise,  and  Accurate  Instructions  in  the  Art  of 
Brewing  Beer,  Ale,  Porter,  &c.  &c.,  and  the  Process  of 
Making  all  the  Small  Beers.  By  M.  LAFAYETTE  BYES,  M.D. 
With  Illustrations.  12mo $1.00 

"Many  an  old  brewer  will  find  in  this  book  valuable  hints  and  suggestions 
worthy  of  consideration,  and  the  novice  can  post  himself  up  in  his  trade  in  all 
its  parts." — Artisan. 

Builder's  Pocket  Companion: 

Containing  the  Elements  of  Building,  Surveying,  and  Archi- 
tecture ;  with  Practical  Rules  and  Instructions  connected 
with  the  subject.  By  A.  C.  SMEATON,  Civil  Engineer,  &c. 
In  one  volume,  I2mo $1.00 

CONTENTS: — The  Builder,  Carpenter,  Joiner,  Mason,  Plasterer,  Plumber, 
Painter,  Smith,  Practical  Geometry,  Surveyor,  Cohesive  Strength  of  Bodies, 
Architect 

"  It  gives,  in  a  small  space,  the  most  thorough  directions  to  the  buflder.  from 
the  laying  of  a  brick,  or  the  felling  of  a  tree,  up  to  the  most  elaborate  produc- 
tion of  ornamental  architecture.  It  la  scientific,  without  being  obscure  and 
•unintelligible ;  and  every  house-carpenter,  master,  journeyman,  or  apprentice, 
should  have  a  copy  at  hand  always." — Evening  Bulletin. 

'•  Complete  on  the  subjects  on  which  it  treats.  A  most  useful,  practical  work." 
— Bait.  American. 

"  It  must  be  of  great  practical  utility." — Savannah  Republican. 

«  To  whatever  branch  of  the  art  of  building  the  reader  may  belong,  he  wfll  find 
in  this  something  valuable  and  calculated  to  assist  his  progress." — Farmer  and 
Mechanic. 

"  This  is  a  valuable  little  volume,  designed  to  assist  the  student  in  the  acqui- 
sition of  elementary  knowledge,  and  will  be  found  highly  advantageous  to  evpry 
young  man  who  has  devoted  himself  to  the  interesting  pursuits  of  which  It 
treats."—  Fa.  Herald. 

3 


H2NRY  CAREY  BAIKD'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Byrne — The     Practical    Metal-worker's 

Assistant ; 

For  Tin-Plate  Workers,  Braziers,  Coppersmiths,  Zinc-Plate 
Ornamenters  and  Workers,  Wire  Workers,  Whitesmiths, 
Blacksmiths,  Bell  Hangers,  Jewellers,  "Silver  and  Gold 
Smiths,  Electrotypers,  and  all  other  Workers  in  Alloys  and 
Metals.  Edited  by  OLIVER  BYRNE.  Complete  in  one  vo- 
lume, octavo $4.00 

It  treats  of  Casting,  Founding,  and  Forging;  of  Tongs  and  other  Tools; 
Degrees  of  Heat  and  Management  of  Fires ;  Welding ;  of  Heading  and  Swage 
Tools;  of  Punches  and  Anvils;  of  Hardening  and  Tempering;  of  Malleable 
Iron  Castings,  Case  Hardening,  Wrought  and  Cast  Iron.  The  management  and 
manipulation  of  Metals  and  Alloys,  Melting  and  Mixing.  The  management 
of  Furnaces,  Casting  and  Founding  with  Metallic  Moulds,  Joining  and  Working 
Sheet  Metal.  Peculiarities  of  the  different  Tools  employed.  Processes  depend- 
ant on  the  ductility  of  Metals.  Wire  Drawing,  Drawing  Metal  Tubes,  Soldering. 
The  use  of  the  Blowpipe,  and  every  other  known  Metal  Worker's  Tool. 

Byrne — The  Practical  Model  Calculator; 

For  the  Engineer,  Machinist,  Manufacturer  of  Engine  Work, 
.  Naval  Architect,  Miner,  and  Millwright.  By  OLIVER 
BYRNE,  Compiler  and  Editor  of  the  Dictionary  of  Machines, 
Mechanics,  Engine  Work  and  Engineering,  and  Author  of 
various  Mathematical  and  Mechanical  Works.  Illustrated 
by  numerous  engravings.  Complete  in  one  large  volume, 
octavo,  of  nearly  six  hundred  pages $3.50 

"In  short  it  must  be  regarded  by  every  man  for  whose  more  especial  benefit 
it  is  intended,  as  a  complete  test-book  in  his  profession." — Pittsburgh  Union. 


Cabinet-maker's  and  Upholsterer's  Com- 
panion : 

Comprising  the  Rudiments  and  Principles  of  Cabinet-making 
and  Upholstery,  with  Familiar  Instructions,  illustrated  by 
Examples  for  attaining  a  proficiency  in  the  Art  of  Drawing, 
as  applicable  to  Cabinet  Work;  the  processes  of  Veneer- 
ing, Inlaying,  and  Buhl  Work ;  the  Art  of  Dyeing  and 
Staining  Wood,  Bone,  Tortoise  Shell,  &c.  Directions  for 
Lackering,  Japanning,  and  Varnishing;  to  make  French 
Polish ;  to  prepare  the  best  Glues,  Cements,  and  Composi- 
tions, and  a  number  of  Receipts  particularly  useful  for 
Workmen  generally.  By  J.  STOKES.  In  one  volume, 
I2mo.  With  Illustrations 75cts. 

"  A  large  amount  of  practical  information,  of  great  serrice  to  all  concerned  in 
those  branches  of  business." — Ohio  State  Journal. 
4 


HENRY  CASEY  BALED1  S  PUBLIC ATI01TS. 

Chemistry  Applied  to  Dyeing. 

By  JAMES  NAPIER,  F.C.S.     Illustrated.     12mo $1.50 

CONTEXTS. — General  Properties  of  Matter. — Heat  Light,  Elements  of  Matter. 
Chemical  Affinity.  JTon-MetuUic  Substances. — Oxygen,  Hydrogen,  Nitrogen, 
Chlorine.  Sulphur.  Selenium.  Phosphorus,  Iodine,  Bromine,  Fluorine,  Silicura, 
Boron,  Carbon.  Metallic  Substances. — General  Properties  of  Metals.  Potassium, 
Sodium.  Lithium,  Soap.  Barium,  Strontium,  Calcium,  Magnesium.  Alminum, 
Manganese,  Iron,  Cobalt,  Nickel.  Zinc,  Cadmium.  Copper,  Lead,  Bismuth.  Tin, 
Titanium,  Chromium,  Vanadium.  Tungstenum  or  Wolfram.  Molybdenum.  Tella- 
rium.  Arsenic.  Antimony,  Uranium,  Cerium,  Mercury,  Silver,  Gold,  Platinum, 
Palladium.  Indium.  Osmium,  Rhodium,  Lanthaniurn.  Mordants. — Red  Spirits, 
Barwood  Spirits,  Plumb  Spirits,  Yellow  Spirits,  Nitrate  of  Iron,  Acetate  of  Alu- 
mina, Black  Iron  Liquor,  Iron  and  Tin  for  RoyalBlues,  Acetate  of  Copper.  Vege- 
table Matters  usfd  in  Dyeing. — Galls,  Sumach,  Catechu,  Indigo,  Logwood,  Brazil- 
woods, Sandal-wood.  Barwood,  Camwood,  Fustic,  Young  Fustic,  Bark  or  Quer- 
citron. Flavine,  Weld  or  Wold,  Turmeric,  Persian  Berries.  Safflower,  Madder, 
Munjeet,  Annotta,  Alkanet  Root,  Archil.  Proposed  New  Vegetable  Dyt. — 
Sooranjee,  Carajuru,  Wongshy,  Aloes,  Pittacal,  Barbary  Root.  Animal  Matters 
used  in  Dyeing. — Cochineal,  Lake  or  Lac,  Kerms. 

This  will  be  found  one  of  the  most  valuable  books  on  the  subject  of  dyeing, 
ever  published  in  this  country. 

Colburn — T7ie  Locomotive  Engine: 

Including  a  Description  of  its  Structure,  Rules  for  Estimating 
its  Capabilities,  and  Practical  Observations  on  its  Con- 
struction and  Management.  By  ZERAH  COLBCKN.  Illus- 
trated. A  new  edition.  12mo 75  cts. 

"  It  is  the  most  practical  and  generally  useful  work  on  the  Steam  Engine  that 
we  hare  seen."' — Boston  Traveller. 

Distiller.  (The  Complete  Practical) 

By  M.  LAFAYETTE  BYRN,  M.D.    With  Illustrations.    12mo.$1.00 

"  So  simplified,  that  it  is  adapted  not  only  to  the  use  of  extensive  Distillers, 
but  for  every  farmer,  or  others  who  may  want  to  engage  in  Distilling." — Banner 
of  the  Union.  t 

Dyer  and  Colour-maker 's  Companion: 

Containing  upwards  of  two  hundred  Receipts  for  making  Co- 
lours, on  the  most  approved  principles,  for  all  the  various 
styles  and  fabrics  now  in  existence ;  with  the  Scouring 
Process,  and  plain  Directions  for  Preparing,  Washing-off, 
and  Finishing  the  Goods.  Second  edition.  In  one  volume, 

12mo.«, 75  cts 

"This  is  another  of  that  most  excellent  class  of  practical  books,  which  the 
pnV.lisher  is  giving  to  the  public.    Indeed,  we  belfeve  there  is  not.  for  manufac- 
turers, a  more  valuable  work,  having  been  prepared  for  and  expressly  adapted 
to  th?ir  business." — Fbrmer  and  Mechanic. 
•'  It  is  a  valuable  book." — Otsego  Republican. 

'•  We  have  shown  it  to  some  practical  men,  who  all  pronounced  It  the  eora- 
pletent  thing  of  the  kind  they  had  seen."— X  T.  Nation. 


HENBY  CABEY  BAjucirS  PUBLICATIONS. 

Dyer's  Instructor: 

Comprising  Practical  Instructions  in  the  Art  of  Dyeing  Silk, 
Cotton,  Wool,  and  Worsted  and  AVoollen  Goods,  as  single 
and  two-coloured  Damasks,  Moreens,  Camlets,  Lastings, 
Shot  Cobourgs,  Silk  Striped  Orleans,  Plain  Orleans  from 
.  White  and  Coloured  Warps,  Merinoes,  AVoollens,  Yarns, 
&c.  &c.  Containing  nearly  Eight  Hundred  Receipts,  to 
which  is  added  a  Treatise  on  the  Art  of  Padding,  and  the 
Printing  of  Silk,  Warps,  Skeins,  and  Handkerchiefs,  and 
the  various  Mordants  and  Colours  for  the  different  Styles 
of  such  work.  By  DAVID  SMITH,  Pattern  Dyer.  12mo, 
cloth , $1.50 

"  Information  can  be  obtained  from  this  book  which  would  be  found  difficult 
to  gain  in  any  other  form." — Sout/iem  Argus. 

Dyer  (TJie  Practical}  and  Scourer. 

By  THOMAS  LOVE.     In  one  volume,  12mo.     (In  press.) 

Examination  of  Drugs,  Medicines,   Che- 

micals,  &c. 

As  to  their  Purity  and  Adulterations,  by  C.  H.  PETRCE,  M.D., 
Translator  of  "  Stockhardt's  Chemistry,"  and  Examiner 
of  Medicines,  &c.  for  the  Port  of  Boston.  12mo $1.25 

Gilbart — Practical  Treatise  on  Banking. 

By  JAB.  WM.  GILBART,  F.R.S.  Edited  by  J.  SMITH  HOMANS, 
Editor  Banker's  Magazine.  8vo $2.50 

Gregory — Mathematics  for  Practical  Men : 

Being  a  Common-Place  Book  of  Principles,  Theorems,  Rules, 
and  Tables,  in  various  Departments  of  Pure  and  Mixed 
Mathematics,  with  their  Applications,  especially  to  the 
pursuits  of  Surveyors,  Architects,  Mechanics,  and  Civil 
Engineers,  with  numerous  Engravings.  By  OLINTHIIS 
GREGORY,  LL.D.,  F.R.A.S $1.50 

Household  Surgery ;  or,  Hints  on  Emer- 
gencies. 

By  J.  F.  SOUTH,  one  of  the  Surgeons  of  St.  Thomas's  Hospi- 
tal. In  one  volume,  12mo,  sheep.  Illustrated  by  nearly 
fifty  Engravingg $1.50 


HZNBY  CAEEY  BAIRD'S  PTIBLICATIONS. 

Johnston — Botanic  Practice  of  Medicine. 

By  Dr.  WM.  JOHNSTON.    24mo - 38  cts. 

Leslie's  (Miss]  Complete  Cookery: 

Directions  for  Cookery  in  its  Various  Branches.  By  Miss  LES- 
LIE. 54th  Thousand.  Thoroughly  Revised,  with  the  Ad- 
dition of  New  Receipts.  In  one  volume,  12mo,  half-bound, 
or  in  sheep ; $1.00 

In  preparing  a  new  and  carefully  revised  edition  of  this  my  first  work  on 
cooker}1,  I  have  introduced  improvements,  corrected  errors,  and  added  new 
receipts,  that  I  trust  will  on  trial  be  found  satisfactory.  The  success  of  the 
book  (proved  by  its  immense  and  increasing  circulation)  affords  conclusive  evi- 
dence that  it  has  obtained  the  approbation  of  a  large  number  of  my  country- 
women, many  of  whom  have  informed  me  that  it  has  made  practical  housewives 
of  young  ladies  who  have  entered  into  married  life  with  no  other  acquirements 
than  a  tew  showy  accomplishments.  Gentlemen,  also,  have  told  me  of  great 
improvements  in  the  family  table,  after  presenting  their  wives  with  this  manual 
of  domestic  cookery,  and  that,  after  a  morning  devoted  to  the  fatigues  of  busi- 
ness, they  no  longer  find  themselves  subjected  to  the  annoyance  of  an  ill-dressed 
dinner. — Preface. 

Leslie's  (Miss]   Two  Hundred  Receipts  in 

French  Cookery.  >. 

A  new  edition,  in  cloth 25  cts. 

Lieber — Assayer's  Guide; 

Or,  Practical  Directions  to  Assayers,  Miners,  and  Smelters,  for 
the  Tests  and  Assays,  by  Heat  and  by  Wet  Processes,  of 
the  Ores  of  all  the  principal  Metals,  and  of  Gold  and  Silver 
Coins  and  Alloys.  By  OSCAR  M.  LIEBER,  late  Geologist  to 
the  State  of  Mississippi.  12mo.  With  Illustrations.  75  cts. 

"  Among  the  indispensable  works  for  this  purpose,  is  this  little  guide." — 
Artisan. 

Lyon — New  and  Improved  Tables : 

With  the  Method  of  their  Application  to  finding  the  Mean 
Heights  of  Cross  Sections,  and  the  Cubic  Contents  of  Exca- 
vations and  Embankments.  By  PATRICK  LYON.  8vo..$1.50 

Macfarlane — Propellers  and  Steam  Navi- 
gation : 

With  Biographical  Sketches  of  Early  Inventors.  By  ROBERT 
MACFARLANE,  C.E.,  Editor  of  the  "Scientific  American." 
In  one  volume,  l^nio.  Illustrated  by  over  eighty  Wood 
Engravings 75  eta. 


HENRY  CAREY  BAIRD'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Morftt — Perfumery;  Its  Manufacture  and 

Use. 

With  Instructions  in  every  branch  of  the  Art,  and  Receipts  for 
all  the  Fashionable  Preparations  ;  the  whole  forming  a  valu- 
able aid  to  the  Perfumer,  Druggist,  and  Soap  Manufac- 
turer. Illustrated  by  numerous  Wood-cuts.  From  the 
French  of  Celnart,  and  other  late  authorities.  With  Ad- 
ditions and  Improvements  by  CAMPBELL  MORFIT.  A  new 
and  revised  edition,  in  one  volume,  12mo,  cloth $1.50 

Morfit — The  Arts  of  Tanning  and  Cur- 
rying : 

Theoretically  and  Practically  Considered  in  all  their  Details, 
being  a  full  and  comprehensive  Treatise  on  the  Manufac- 
ture of  the  various  kinds  of  Leather.  Illustrated  by  over 
two  hundred  Engravings.  Edited  from  the  French  of  De 
Fontenelle  and  Malapeyere.  With  numerous  Emendations 
and  Additions,  by  CAMPBELL  MORFIT,  Practical  and  Ana- 
lytical Chemist.  Complete  in  one  volume,  octavo $5.00 

This  important  Treatise  will  be  found  to  cover  the  whole  field  in  the  most 
masterly  manner,  and  it  is  believed  that  in  no  other  branch  of  applied  science 
could  more  signal  service  be  rendered  to  American  Manufacturers. 

The  publisher  is  not  aware  that  in  any  other  work  heretofore  issued  in  this 
country,  more  space  has  been  devoted  to  this  subject  than  a  single  chapter ;  and 
in  offering  this  volume  to  so  large  and  intelligent  a  class  as  American  Tanners 
and  Leather  Dressers,  he  feels  confident  of  their  substantial  support  and  en- 
couragement. 

CONTENTS. — Introduction,  Dignity  of  Labour,  Tan  and  Tannin,  Gallic  Acid, 
Extractive  Tanning  Materials,  Oak  Barks,  Barking  of  Trees,  Method  of  Esti- 
mating the  Tanning  Power  of  Astringent  Substances,  Tan,  the  Structure  and 
Composition  of  Skin,  Different  kinds  of  Skin  suitable  for  Tanning,  Preliminary 
Treatment  of  Skins,  Tanning  Process,  Improved  Processes.  Vauquelin's  Pro- 
cess, Accelerating  Processes,  Keasley's,  Trumbull's,  Hibbards,  and  Leprieur's 
Processes,  Tanning  with  Extract  of  Oak-Bark,  Hemlock  Tanning,  with  Myrtle 
Plant,  English  Harness  Leather,  Calf  Skins,  Goat  and  Sheep  Skins,  Horse  Hides, 
Buck,  Wolf,  and  Dog  Skins,  Buffalo,  or  "  Grecian"  Leather,  Russia  Leather, 
Bed  Skins,  Wallachia  Leather,  Mineral  Tanning,  Texture  and  Quality  of  Leather, 
and  the  Means  of  Discovering  its  Defects,  Tawing,  Hungary  Leather,  Oiled 
Leather,  Tanning  as  practised  by  the  Mongol  Tartars,  Shagreen,  Parchment, 
Leather  Bottles,  Tanning  of  Cordage  and  Sail  Cloth,  Glazed  or  "  Patent"  Lea- 
ther, Helverson's  Process  for  Rendering  Hides  Hard  and  Transparent,  Currying, 
Currying  of  Calf  Skins,  Currying  of  Goat  Skins,  Red  Leather,  Fair  Leather, 
M"ater  Proof  Dressing,  Perkins'  Machine  for  Pommelling  and  Graining  Leather, 
Splitting,  Shaving,  fleshing  and  Cleansing  Machines,  Embossing  of  Leather, 
Gut  Dressing. 


Mortimer — Pyrotechnist's  Companion  • 

Or,  A  Familiar  System  of  Fire-works.     By  G.  W.  MORTIMER 
Illustrated  by  numerous  Engravings.     12mo 75  cts. 


HENRY  CAAJSY  BAIRD'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Napier — Manual  of  Electro- Metallurgy : 

Including  the  Application  of  the  Art  to  Manufacturing  Processes. 
By  JAMES  NAPIER.  From  the  second  London  edition,  re- 
vised and  enlarged.  Illustrated  by  Engravings.  In  one 
volume,  12mo $1.25 

Napier's  Electro-Metallurgy  is  generally  regarded  as  the  very  best  practical 
treatise  on  the  subject  in  the  English  language. 

CONTEXTS. — History  of  the  Art  of  Electro-Metallurgy,  Description  of  Galvanic 
Bai  teries,  and  their  respective  Peculiarities,  Electrotype  Processes,  Miscellaneous 
Applications  of  the  Process  of  Coating  with  Copper,  Bronzing.  Decomposition  of 
Metals  upon  one  another,  Electro-Plating,  Electro^Gilding,  Results  of  Experi- 
ments on  the  Deposition  of  other  Metals  as  Coatings,  Theoretical  Observation*. 

Neill — Fruit,  Floiver,  and  Kitchen  Garden. 

By  PATRICK  NEILL,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.E.,  Secretary  to  the  Royal 
Caledonian  Horticultural  Society.  Adapted  to  the  United 
States,  from  the  fourth  edition,  revised  and  improved  by  the 
Author.  Illustrated  by  fifty  Wood  Engravings  of  Hot- 
houses, &c.  &c.  In  one  volume,  12mo $1.25 

"  This  volume  supplies  a  desideratum  much  felt,  and  gives  within  a  moderate 
compass  all  the  horticultural  information  necessary  for  practical  use." — Newark 
Mercury. 

"  A  valuable  addition  to  the  horticulturist's  library." — Baltimore  Patriot. 


Nicholson — Book-binder's  (The Practical) 

Manual : 

Containing  Full  Directions  for  all  the  different  Branches  of 
Book-binding  and  Marbling.  By  JAMES  B.  NICHOLSON. 
Illustrated.  12mo.  (In  press.) 


Norris's  Hand-book  for  Locomotive  En- 
gineers and  Machinists : 

Comprising  the  Calculations  for  Constructing  Locomotives,  Man- 
ner of  setting  Valves,  &c.  &c.  By  SEPTIMUS  NORRIS,  Civil 
and  Mechanical  Engineer.  In  one  volume,  12mo,  with  Illus- 
trations  $1.50 

"  With  pleasure  do  we  meet  with  such  a  work  as  Messrs.  N  orris  and  Baird 
have  given  us." — Artisan. 

"  In  this  work  he  has  given  us  what  are  called  '  the  secrets  of  the  bnsir**'*.' 
in  the  rules  to  construct  locomotives,  in  order  that  the  million  should  be  learned 
in  all  things." — Scientific  American. 

9 


HENRY  CAREY  BAIRD'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Nystrom — A  Treatise  on  Screw- Propellers 

and  their  Steam-Engines : 

With  Practical  Rules  and  Examples  by  which  to  Calculate  and 
Construct  the  same  for  any  description  of  Vessels.  By  J. 
W.  NYSTROM.  Illustrated  -by  over  thirty  large  Working 

Drawings.     In  one  volume,  octavo $3.50 

This  is  the  fullest  treatise  on  the  subject  ever  published  in  this  country. 

Overman — The  Manufacture  of  Iron  in 

all  its  Various  Branches : 

To  which  is  added  an  Essay  on  the  Manufacture  of  Steel,  by 
FREDERICK  OVERMAN,  Mining  Engineer,  with  one  hundred 
and  fifty  Wood  Engravings.  Third  edition.  In  one  volume, 

octavo,  five  hundred  pages $5.00 

"We  have  now  to  announce  the  appearance  of  another  valuable  work  on  the 
subject,  which,  in  our  bumble  opinion,  supplies  any  deficiency  which  late  im- 
provements and  discoveries  may  have  caused,  from  the  lapse  of  time  since  the 
date  of  '  Mushet'  and  '  Schrivenor.'  It  is  the  production  of  one  of  our  trans- 
atlantic brethren,  Mr.  Frederick  Overman,  Mining  Engineer;  and  we  do  not 
hesitate  to  set  it  down  as  a  work  of  great  importance  to  all  connected  with  the 
iron  interest;  one  which,  while  it  is  sufficiently  technological  fully  to  explain 
chemical  analysis,  and  the  various  phenomena  of  iron  under  different  circum- 
stances, to  the  satisfaction  of  the  most  fastidious,  is  written  in  that  clear  and 
comprehensive  style  as  to  be  available  to  the  capacity  of  the  humblest  mind, 
and  consequently  will  be  of  much  advantage  to  those  works  where  the  proprie- 
tors may  see  the  desirability  of  placing  it  in  the  hands  of  their  operatives." — 
London  Morning  Journal. 

Painter,    (The]  Gilder,  and    Varnisher's 

Companion  : 

Containing  Rules  and  Regulations  for  every  thing  relating  to 
the  arts  of  Painting,  Gilding,  Varnishing,  and  Glass-stain- 
ing :  numerous  useful  and  valuable  Receipts ;  Tests  for  the 
Detection  of  Adulterations  in  Oils,  Colours,  &c. ;  and  a 
Statement  of  the  Diseases  and  Accidents  to  which  Painters, 
Gilders,  and  Varnishers  are  particularly  liable ;  with  the 
simplest  methods  of  Prevention  and  Remedy.  Fifth  edition. 
In  one  volume,  small  12mo,  cloth 75  cts. 

Paper- Hanger's  (The]  Companion: 

(n  which  the  Practical  Operations  of  the  Trade  are  systematic- 
ally laid  down ;  with  copious  Directions  Preparatory  to 
Papering ;  Preventions  against  the  effect  of  Damp  in  Walls; 
the  various  Cements  and  Pastes  adapted  to  the  several  pur- 
poses of  the  trade ;  Observations  and  Directions  for  the 
Panelling  and  Ornamenting  of  Rooms,  &c.  &c.  By  JAMES 
ARROWSMITH.  In  one  volume,  12mo 75  cts. 


HENKY  CAREY  BAIED'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Perkins — Practical  Treatise  on  Gas  and 

Ventilation. 
By  E.  E.  PERKINS.     12mo.     (In  press.) 

> 

Practical  Printer,    Type   Founder,   and 

Stereotyped s  Hand-Book. 
By  D.  W.  BELISLE.     Illustrated.     12mo.     (In  press.) 

Practical  (The)  Stirveyor's  Guide: 

Containing  the  necessary  information  to  make  any  person  of 
common  capacity  a  finished  Land  Surveyor,  without  the 
aid  of  a  teacher.  By  ANDREW  DUNCAH,  Land  Surveyor 

and  Civil  Engineer.     12mo 75  eta. 

Haying  had  an  experience  as  a  practical  Surveyor,  Ac.  of  thirty  years,  it  ia 
believed  that  the  author  of  this  volume  possesses  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
•wants  of  the  profession;  and  never  having  met  with  any  work  sufficiently  con- 
cise and  instructive  in  the  several  details  necessary  for  the  proper  qualification 
of  the  Surveyor,  it  has  been  his  object  to  supply  that  want.  Among  other  im- 
portant matters  in  the  book,  will  be  found  the  following : 

Instructions  in  levelling  and  profiling,  with  a  new  and  speedy  plan  of  setting 
grades  on  rail  and  plank  roads;  the  method  of  inflecting  curres;  the  descrip-. 
tkm  and  design  of  a  new  instrument,  whereby  distances  are  found  at  once,  with- 
out any  calculation ;  a  new  method  of  surveying  any  tract  of  land  by  measur- 
ing one  line  through  it;  a  geometrical  method  of  correcting  surveys  taken  with 
the  compass,  to  fit  them  for  calculation;  a  short  method  of  finding  the  anglet 
from  the  courses,  and  vice  versa;  the  method  of  surveying  with  the  compass 
through  any  mine  or  iron  works,  and  to  correct  the  deflections  of  the  needle  by 
attraction;  description  of  an  instrument  by  the  help  of  which  any  one  may 
measure  a  map  by  inspection,  without  calculation ;  a  new  and  short  method  of 
calculation,  wherein  fewer  figures  are  used;  the  method  of  correcting  the  dim 
nal  variation  of  the  needle ;  various  methods  of  plotting  and  embellishing  maps; 
the  most  correct  method  of  laying  off  plots  with  the  pole,  Ac. ;  description  of  a 
new  compass  contrived  by  the  author,  Ac.  Ac. 

Rail  Road  Curves,  and  Location  of  Rail 

Roads : 

A  Practical  Treatise.  By  E.  W.  BEANS,  Civil  Engineer.  12mo. 
(In  press.) 


Rural  Chemistry: 


An  Elementary  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  the  Science,  in  its 
relation  to  Agriculture  and  the  Arts  of  Life.  By  EDWARD 
SOLLY,  Professor  of  Chemistry  in  the  Horticultural  Society 
of  London.  From  the  third  improved  London  edition, 

12ino $1.25 

11 


HENRY  CAREY  BAIRD'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Scott — The  Practical  Cotton-spinner  and 

Manufacturer;    or,  the  Manager  and   Overlooker's 
Companion  : 

This  work  contains  a  Comprehensive  System  of  Calculations 
for  Mill  Gearing  and  Machinery,  from  the  first  moving 
power,  through  the  different  processes  of  Carding,  Drawing, 
Slabbing,  Roving,  Spinning,  and  Weaving,  adapted  to 
American  Machinery,  Practice  and  Usages.  Compendious 
Tables  of  Yarns  and  Reeds  are  added.  Illustrated  by  large 
working-drawings  of  the  most  approved  American  Cotton 

Machinery.     Complete  in  one  volume,  octavo $3.50 

This  edition  of  Scott's  Cotton-Spinner,  by  OLIVER  BYRNE,  is  designed  for  the 
American  Operative.  It  will  be  found  intensely  practical,  and  will  be  of  the 
greatest  possible  value  to  the  Manager,  Overseer,  and  Workman. 

Stole  De  Vere — Sketches  of  Comparative 

Philology. 

By  Prof.  SHELE  DE  VERE,  of  the  University  of  Virginia, 
author  of  a  "Grammar  of  the  Spanish  Language."  Com- 
plete in  one  volume,  12mo $1.25 

•Solly — Syllabus  of  a  Complete  Course  of 

Lectures  on  Chemistry : 

Including  its  Application  to  the  Arts,  Agriculture,  and  Mining. 
By  Prof.  E.  SOLLY.  Revised  by  the  author  of  "  Chemical 
Manipulations."  Octavo,  cloth $1.25 

Templeton — The    Practical    Examinator 

on  Steam  and  the  Steam  Engine: 

"With  Instructive  References  relative  thereto,  arranged  for  the 
use  of  Engineers,  Students,  and  others.  By  WM.  TEMPLE- 
TON,  Engineer.  12mo 75  cts. 

This  work  was  originally  written  for  the  author's  private  use.  He  was  pre- 
vailed upon  by  various  Engineers,  who  had  seen  the  notes,  to  consent  to  its  pub- 
lication, from  their  eager  expression  of  belief  that  it  would  be  equally  useful 
to  them  as  it  had  been  to  himself. 

Treatise  (A)  on  a  Box  of  Instruments, 

And  the  SLIDE  RULE,  with  the  Theory  of  Trigonometry  and 
Logarithms,  including  Practical  Geometry,  Surveying, 
Measuring  of  Timber,  Cask  and  Malt  Gauging,  Heights 
and  Distances.  By  THOMAS  KENTISH.  In  one  volume, 
12mo „ $1.00 

A.  volume  of  inestimable  value  to  Engineers,  Gangers,  Students,  and  others. 
12 


HENKY  CAREY  BATED' S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Turnbull — A    Treatise  on  Experimental 

Electricity. 
By  LAWBEXCE  TUBSBULL,  M.D.     12mo.     (In  press.) 

Turner's  Companion : 

Containing  Instructions  in  Concentric,  Elliptic,  and  Eccentric 
Turning.  Also,  various  Plates  of  Chucks,  Tools,  and  In- 
struments, and  Directions  for  using  the  Eccentric  Cutter, 
Drill,  Vertical  Cutter,  and  Circular  Rest;  with  Patterns 
and  Instructions  for  working  them.  Illustrated  with  nume- 
rous Engravings.  In  one  volume,  12mo 75  cts. 

A  valuable  little  book,  beautifully  and  completely  illustrated. 

Walker — Electrotype  Manipulation. 

Being  the  Theory  and  Plain  Instructions  in  the  Art  of  Working 
in  Metals,  by  Precipitating  them  from  their  Solutions, 
through  the  agency  of  Galvanic  or  Voltaic  Electricity ;  also 
in  the  Arts  of  Electro-Plating,  Electro-Gilding,  and  Elec- 
tro-Etching ;  with  an  Account  of  the  Mode  of  Depositing 
Metallic  Oxides,  and  of  the  several  applications  of  Electro- 
type in  the  Arts.  By  CHABLES  V.  WALKEB,  Hon.  Sec.  of 
the  London  Electrical  Society,  &c.  Illustrated.  New  edi- 
tion, from  the  Twenty-fifth  London  edition.  12mo...75  cts. 

The  rapid  sale  In  England  of  twenty-fire  editions,  and  the  demand  in  this 
country  render  necessary  no  further  guarantee  of  the  value  of  this  book.  1'or 
popular  use  it  surpasses  all  other  treatises  on  the  subject 

Walter  &  Smith — Cottage  and  Villa  Ar- 
chitecture : 

With  Ground-plans  and  Elevations.  By  THOMAS  U.  WALTER, 
Architect  of  Girard  College,  and  JOHN  JAY  SMITH,  Phila- 
delphia Library.  In  two  volumes,  quarto $5.00 

Walter  &  Smith's  Guide  to   Workers  in 

Metal  and  Stone. 

Consisting  of  Designs  and  Patterns  for  Gates,  Piers,  Balcony 
and  Cemetery  Railing,  Window  Guards,  Balustrades,  Stair- 
cases, Candelabras,  &c.  &c.  Four  parts,  cuarto.  Illus- 
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Campbell  —  Specimens  of  the  British  Poets 

from  the  time  of  Chaucer  to  the  end  of  the  Eiqht- 
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Gray — Poetical  Works  of  Thomas  Gray : 

With  Illustrations  by  C.  W.  RADCLYFFE.  Edited  with  a  Memoir, 
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Lady  of  the  Lake. 

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Wadsworth  Longfellow: 

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Poets  and  Poetry  of  England  in  the  Nine- 
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16 


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Poets  and  Poetry  of  the  Ancients. 

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Three  Hours,  or  the  Vigil  of  Love. 

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Wood — Personal  Recollections  of  the  Stage, 

Embracing  notices  of  Actors,  Authors,  and  Auditors,  during  a 
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Walpole — The  Castle  of  Otranto. 

A  Gothic  Story.  By  HORACE  WALPOLE,  Earl  of  Orford.  With 
a  Memoir  of  the  Author,  by  LORD  DOVER.  In  'one  volume, 
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It  has  been  thought  that  a  handsome  and  readable  edition  of  Walpole's  re- 
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lisher therefore  offers  the  present,  which  he  feels  satisfied  will,  like  Beckford's 
"  Vathek,"  meet  with  a  ready  and  large  demand. 

"  The  actors  in  the  romance  are  strikingly  drawn,  with  bold  outlines,  becom- 
ing the  age  and  nature  of  the  story.  Feudal  tyranny  was  perhaps  never  better 
exemplified  than  in  the  character  of  Manfred.  He  has  the  courage,  the  art,  the 
duplicity,  the  ambition  of  a  barbarous  chieftian  of  the  Dark  Ages,  yet  touches 
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"  One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  his  works." — Lord  Dover. 

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Where  a  beautiful  imagination,  supported  by  strength  of  judgment,  has  enabled 
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tragedy." — Dr.  Warburton. 

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himself. —  Wdrbttrton'i  Memoir*  of  Walpole. 

Wyatfs  History  of  the  Kings  of  France. 

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